1 


mm 


illpV'^s' 


is 


W4 


ii 


iivEM 


m  ? 


RtRY   OF  THE   UNIVERSITY  OF   CALIFORNIA 


-  'I 


i 


RARY    OF   THE    UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA 


=:   /g 


UNIVERSITY  OF   GUIFORNIA         LIBRARY   OF  THE 

Hi 


M^ 


UNIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA 


LIBRARY   OF  THE 


The  Autonym  Library. 

Paper ^  ls»  6d,  ;  cloth^  is, 

1.  THE    UPPER    BERTH.      By  F.  MARION 

Crawford.     Third  Edition. 

2.  MAD  SIR  UCHTRED  OF  THE  HILLS. 

By  S.  R.  Crockett.    Second  Edition. 

BY  REEF  AND  PALM.    By  Louis  Becke. 
Preface  by  the  EARL  OF  PEMBROKE.    Second 

Edition. 

4.  THE  PLAYACTRESS.   By  S.  R.  Crockett. 

5.  A  BACHELOR  MAID.      By  MRS.  BURTON 

Harrison. 

6.  MISERRIMA.    By  G.  W.  T.  Omond. 

7.  TWO  STRANGERS.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant. 

8.  ANOTHER  WICKED  WOMAN.      By  S. 

De  Pentheny. 

>  THE  SPECTRE  OF  STRATHANNAN. 

By  W.  E.  NORRis. 

10.  KAFFIR  STORIES.    By  W.  C.  Scully. 

11.  MOLLY   DARLING  I      By  MRS.   HUNGER- 

FORD. 

12.  A   GAME    OF    CONSEQUENCES.      By 

Albert  Kinross. 

13.  SLEEPING  FIRES.    By  GEORGE  GiSSING. 


IN    PREPARATION. 

THE  RED  STAR.    By  L.  McManus. 

A     MARRIAGE     BY     CAPTURE.      By 

Robert  Buchanan. 


Copyright  by  T.  FISHER  UNWIN 
for  Great  Britain, 


THE  PSEUDONYM  LIBRARY 

Paper,  1  G;  cloth,  2/- 

1.  MADEMOISELLE  IXE. 

2.  STORY  OF  ELEANOR  LAMBERT. 
a  MYSTERY  OF  THE  CAMPAGNA. 

4.  THE  SCHOOL  OF  ART. 

5.  AMARYLLIS. 

6.  HOTEL  D'ANGLETERRE. 

7.  A  RUSSIAN  PRIEST. 

a  SOME  EMOTIONS  AND  A  MORAL. 
9.  EUROPEAN  RELATIONS. 
0.  JOHN  SHERMAN. 

11.  THROUGH  THE  RED-LITTEN  WINDOWS. 

12.  GREEN  TEA. 

13.  7/J5;Ayr  LADEN. 

14.  iV.4^Ai2',9  DREAM. 

15.  iV^iJir  ENGLAND  CACTUS. 

16.  rfl"j5;  fl-jEiji?  oi^  iovjs?, 

17.  rzr^  GENERAL'S  DAUGHTER. 

18.  SAG H ALIEN  CONVICT. 

19.  GENTLEMAN  UPCOTTS  DAUGHTER. 

20.  A  SPLENDID  COUSIN. 

21.  COLETTE. 
-22.  OTTILIE. 

sa  ^  STUDY  IN  TEMPTATIONS. 

24.  TJ/^  CRUISE  OF  THE  "  17/2^2)  DUOK." 

25.  SQUIRE  HELLMAN. 

26.  4  FATHER  OF  SIX. 

27.  Tfl"^  TFO  COUNTESSES. 

28.  T^^  SINNERS  COMEDY. 

29.  C4F^iXi?iZ/A  RUSTIC  ANA. 

30.  TiT^  PASSING  OF  A  MOOD. 

31.  (?OZ>'S  Tr/iii:. 

32.  DREAM  LIFE  AND  REAL  LIFE. 

33.  T^^  HOME  OF  THE  DRAGON. 

34.  ui  BUNDLE  OF  LIFE. 

35.  MIMFS  MARRIAGE. 

36.  TJTJS;  ROUSING  OF  MRS.  POTTER. 

37.  A  STUDY  IN  COLOUR. 

38.  r/f^  fl"OiV.  ST  AN  BURY,  AND  OTHER&. 

39.  Tfl"^  SHEN'S  PIGTAIL. 

40.  YOUNG  SA3I  AND  SABINA. 

41.  r/f^  SILVER  CHRIST. 

42.  A  HUSBAND  OF  NO  IMPORTANCE 

43.  LESSER S  DAUGHTER. 
44  HELEN. 

45.  OL/FJF'  DATS. 

46.  OLD  5i20W^iV'<S  COTTAGES. 

47.  UNDER  THE  CHILTERNS. 

48.  js?y^i2r  D4F.S  iv^i;ir.SL 

49.  CAUSE  AND  EFFECT. 

50.  WHITE  UMBRELLAS. 

51.  FZrJJiir  WHEAT  IS  GREEN. 


SLEEPING  FIRES 


9 


v^4-4-vtv/ 


Sleeping    Fires 


BY 

GEORGE  GISSING 

AUTHOR    OF 

*«THE    ODD    WOMEN,"    « EVE'S 
RANSOM,"    &c. 


Second  Edition 


LONDON 

T.   FISHER   UNWIN 

1896 


Copyright  by  T.  FISHER  UNWIN 

for  Great  Britain 

and  the  United  States  of  America. 


SLEEPING  FIRES. 


HE  rain  was  over. 
As  he  sat  reading 
Langley  saw  the  page 
llumined  with  a  flood 
of  sunshine,  which 
warmed  his  face  and 
hand.  For  a  few 
minutes  he  read  on,, 
then  closed  his  Aris- 
tophanes with  a  laugh 
— faint  echo  of  the 
laughter  of  more  than 
two  thousand  years 
ago. 

He  had  passed  the 
winter     at     Athens, 
rooms,  chosen    for    the 


occupying 


333397 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

prospects  they  commanded,  in  a 
hotel  unknown  to  his  touring 
countrymen,  where  the  waiters 
had  no  English,  and  only  a  smat- 
tering of  French  or  Italian.  No 
economic  necessity  constrained  him. 
Within  sight  of  the  Acropolis  he  did 
not  care  to  be  constantly  reminded 
of  Piccadilly  or  the  Boulevard — 
that  was  all.  He  consumed  ptlafi 
and  meats  generously  enriched  with 
the  native  oil,  drank  resinated  wine, 
talked  such  Greek  as  Heaven  per- 
mitted. At  two  and  forty,  whether 
by  choice  or  pressure  of  circum- 
stance, a  man  may  be  doing  worse. 
The  cup  and  plate  of  his  early 
breakfast  were  still  on  the  table, 
with  volumes  many,  in  many  lan- 
guages, heaped  about  them.  Lang- 
ley  looked  at  his  watch,  rose  with 
deliberation,  stretched  himself,  and 
walked  to  the  window.  Hence,  at 
a  southern  angle,  he  saw  the  Par- 
thenon, honey-coloured  against  a 
violet  sky,  and  at  the  opposite 
limit    of   his    view    the    peak    of 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

Lycabettus  ;  between  and  beyond, 
through  the  pellucid  air  which 
at  once  reveals  and  softens  its 
barren  ruggedness,  Hymettus  bask- 
ing in  the  light  of  spring.  He 
could  not  grow  weary  of  such 
a  scene,  which  he  had  watched 
through  changes  innumerable  of 
magic  gleam  and  shade  since  the 
sunsets  of  autumn  fired  it  with 
solemn  splendour ,  but  his  gaze 
this  morning  was  directed  merely 
by  habit.  With  the  laugh  he  had 
forgotten  Aristophanes,  and  now, 
as  his  features  told,  was  possessed 
with  thought  of  some  modern, 
some  personal  interest,  a  care,  it 
seemed,  and  perchance  that  one, 
woven  into  the  fabric  of  his  life, 
which  accounted  for  deep  lines  on 
a  face  otherwise  expressing  the  con- 
tentment of  manhood  in  its  prime. 

A  second  time  he  consulted  his 
watch — perhaps  because  he  had  no 
appointment,  nor  any  call  whatever 
upon  his  time.  Then  he  left  the 
room,  crossed  a  corridor,  and  entered 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

his  bedchamber  to  make  ready  for 
going  forth.  Thus  equipped  he 
presented  a  recognisable  type 
of  English  gentleman,  without 
eccentricity  of  garb,  without  origi- 
nality, clad  for  ease  and  for  the 
southern  climate,  but  obviously  by 
a  London  tailor.  Ever  so  slight  a 
bend  of  shoulders  indicated  the 
bookman,  but  he  walked,  even  in 
sauntering,  with  free,  firm  step,  and 
looked  about  him  hke  a  man  of  this 
world.  The  face  was  pleasant  to 
encounter,  features  handsome  and 
genial,  moustache  and  beard,  in 
hue  something  like  the  foliage 
of  a  copper-beech,  peculiarly  well 
trimmed.  At  a  little  distance  one 
judged  him  on  the  active  side  of 
forty.  His  lineaments  provoked 
another  estimate,  but  with  no 
painful  sense  of  disillusion. 

Careless  of  direction,  he  strolled 
to  the  public  market — the  Bazaar, 
as  it  is  called — where,  as  in  the 
Athens  of  old,  men,  not  women, 
were   engaged   in   marketing,   and 


lo 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

where  fish  seemed  a  commodity  no 
less  important  than  when  it  nourished 
the  sovereign  Demos.  Thence,  by 
the  Street  of  Athena,  head  bent  in 
thought,  to  the  street  of  Hermes, 
where  he  loitered  as  if  in  uncer- 
tainty, indifference  leading  him  at 
length  to  the  broad  sunshine  of  that 
dusty,  desolate  spot  where  stands  the 
Temple  of  Theseus.  So  nearly 
perfect  that  it  can  scarce  be  called 
a  ruin,  there,  on  the  ragged  fringe 
of  modern  Athens,  hard  by  the 
station  of  the  Piraeus  Railway,  its 
marble  majesty  consecrates  the 
ravaged  soil.  A  sanctuary  still,  so 
old,  so  wondrous  in  its  isolation, 
that  all  the  life  of  to-day  around 
it  seems  a  futility  and  an  imper- 
tinence. 

Looking  dreamily  before  him, 
Langley  saw  a  man  who  drew  near 
— a  man  with  a  book  under  one 
arm,  an  umbrella  under  the  other, 
and  an  open  volume  in  his  hands — a 
tourist,  of  course,  and  probably  an 
Englishman,  for  his  garb  was  such 


II 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

as  no  native  of  a  civilised  country 
would  exhibit  among  his  own  people. 
His  eccentric  straw  hat,  with  a 
domed  crown  and  an  immense  brim, 
shadowed  a  long,  thin  visage  dis- 
guised with  blue  spectacles.  A  grey- 
Norfolk  jacket  moulded  itself  to  his 
meagre  form  ;  below  were  flannel 
trousers,  very  baggy  at  the  knees, 
and  a  pair  of  sand-shoes.  This 
individual,  absorbed  in  study  of  the 
book  he  held  open,  moved  forward 
with  a  slow,  stumbling  gait.  He 
was  arrested  at  length,  and  all  but 
overthrown,  by  coming  in  contact 
with  the  sword-pointed  leaf  of  a 
great  agave.  Langley,  now  close 
at  hand,  barely  refrained  from 
laughter.  He  had  averted  his  eyes, 
when,  with  no  Httle  astonishment, 
he  heard  himself  called  by  name. 
The  stranger — for  Langley  tried  in 
vain  to  recognise  him  —  hurried 
forward  with  a  hand  of  greeting. 
^"  Don't  you  remember  me  ? — 
Worboys." 

"  Of  course !    In  another  moment 


12 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

your  voice  would  have  declared  you 
to  me.  I  seemed  to  hear  some  one 
calling  from  an  immense  distance 
— knew  I  ought  to  know  the 
voice " 

They  shook  hands  cordially. 

"  Good  Heavens,  Langley  !  To 
think  that  we  should  meet  in  the 
Kerameikos  !  You  know  that  we 
are  in  the  Kerameikos  ?  I've  got 
Pausanias  here,  but  it  really  is  so 
extremely  difficult  to  identify  the 
sites '' 

Fifteen  years  had  elapsed  since 
their  last  meeting ;  but  Worboys, 
oblivious  of  the  trifle,  plunged 
forthwith  into  a  laborious  statement 
of  his  topographic  and  archaeologic 
perplexities.  He  talked  just  as  at 
Cambridge,  where  his  ponderous 
pedantry  had  been  wont  to  excite 
Langley's  amusement,  at  the  same 
time  that  the  sterling  qualities  of 
the  man  attracted  his  regard.  Any- 
thing but  brilliantly  endowed,  Wor- 
boys,  by  dint  of  plodding,  achieved 
academic  repute,  got  his  fellowship. 


13 


SLEEPING    FIRfiS. 

and  pursued  a  career  of  erudition. 
He  was  known  to  schools  and 
colleges  by  his  exhaustive  editing 
of  the  "  Cyropasdia."  Langley,  led 
by  fate  into  other  paths,  gradually 
lost  sight  of  his  entertaining  friend. 
That  their  acquaintance  should  be 
renewed  "  in  the  Kerameikos  "  was 
appropriate  enough,  and  Langley's 
mood  prepared  him  to  welcome  the 
incident. 

"  Are  you  here  alone  ? "  he  asked, 
when  civility  allowed  him  to  wave 
Pausanias  aside. 

"  No  ;  I  am  bear-leading.  Last 
autumn,  I  regret  to  say,  I  had  a 
rather  serious  illness,  and  travel  was 
recommended.  It  happened  at  the 
same  time  that  Lord  Henry  Strands 
— I  was  his  young  brother's  tutor, 
by  the  by — spoke  to  me  of  a  lady 
who  wished  to  find  a  travelling 
companion  for  a  young  fellow,  a 
ward  of  hers.  I  somewhat  doubted 
my  suitability — the  conditions  of 
the  case  were  peculiar — but  after 
an  interview  with  Lady  Revill " 


14 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

The  listener's  half-absent  smile 
changed  of  a  sudden  to  a  look  of 
surprise  and  close  attention. 

" — I  gave  my  assent.  He's  a 
lad  of  eighteen  without  parents  to 
look  after  him,  and  really  a  difficult 
subject.  I  much  fear  that  he  finds 
my  companionship  wearisome  -,  at 
all  events,  he  gets  out  of  my  way 
as  often  as  he  can.  Louis  Reed  is 
his  name.  I'm  afraid  he  has  caused 
his  guardian  a  great  deal  of  anxiety. 
And  Lady  Revill — such  an  admirable 
person,  I  really  can't  tell  you  how 
I  admire  and  respect  her — she 
regards  him  quite  as  her  son." 

"  Lady  Revill  has  no  child  of  her 
own,  I  believe  ?  "  said  Langley. 

"  No.  You  are  acquainted  with 
her  ?  " 

"  I  knew  her  before  her  mar- 
riage." 

"  Indeed  !  What  a  delightful 
coincidence  !  I  can't  tell  you  how 
she  impresses  me.  Of  course  I  am 
not  altogether  unaccustomed  to  the 
society   of  such  people,  but    Lady 


15 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

Revill — I  really  regard  her  as  the 
very  best  type  of  aristocratic  woman, 
I  do  indeed.  She  must  have  been 
most  interesting  in  her  youth." 

"  Do  you  think  of  her  as  old  ?  ** 
Langley  asked,  with  a  grave  smile. 

"Oh,  not  exactly  old — oh,  dear 
no  !  I  imagine  that  her  age — 
well,  I  never  gave  the  matter  a 
thought." 

''  Does  she  seem ? "  Langley 

hesitated,  dropping  his  look. 
"  Should  you  say  that  her  life  has 
been  a  pleasant  one  ?  " 

"  Oh,  undoubtedly  !  Well,  that 
is  to  say,  we  must  remember  that 
she  has  suffered  a  sad  loss.  I  believe 
Sir  Thomas  Revill  was  a  most  ad- 
mirable man." 

"  She  speaks  of  him  ?  " 

"  Not  to  me.  But  I  have  heard 
from  others.  Not  a  distinguished 
man,  of  course ;  silent,  as  a  member 
of  Parliament,  I  believe,  but  ad- 
mirable in  all  private  relations.  To 
be  sure,  I  have  only  heard  of  him 
casually.     You  knew  him  r  " 


i6 


SLEEPlKG    FIRES. 

"  By  repute  I  should  say  you 
are  quite  right  about  hinu  And 
this  boy  gives  you  a  good  deal  of 
trouble?" 

'^  No,  no  !  "  Worboys  nrrhimfd 
Inirriedly.  ^  I  didn't  wish  to  con- 
vey that  impressioa«  To  begin 
with,  one  can  hardty  call  him  a 
boy.  No,  he  b  sangularly  mature 
fer  his  age.  And  yet  I  dcm't  meaa 
mature;  on  the  omtrary,  he  abounds 
in  youthfiil  fcX&cs.  I  don't  wish 
to  oooirey  an  impiesrion  —  really 
it's  very  difiniH  to  describe  him« 
But  of  oottne  you  wiD  come  and 
have  hmch  with  OS,  Lang^?  Hell 
be  at  the  hotd  by  one  oi'clock,  no 
doubt.  I  left  him  writing  letters — 
he's  alw;^  writing  letters*  Really, 
I  am  tempted  to  imagine  some — 
but  he  doem't  confide  in  me,  and  I 
sddom  allow  nqrself  to  talk  of  any- 
thing but  scrioos  sabjects." 

They  were  moving  in  the  town- 
ward  direction*  Lan^ejj  divided 
between  hb  own  thoaghts  and 
attention  to  what  his  compamon 


17  ? 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

was    saying,  walked  with  eyes   on 
the  ground. 

"  And  what  have  you  been  doing 
all  these  years  ?  "  Worboys  inquired. 
"  Strange  how  completely  we  have 
drifted  apart.  I  knew  you  on  the 
instant.  You  have  changed  wonder- 
fully little.  And  how  pleasant  it  is 
to  hear  your  voice  again  !  Life  is 
so  short  j  friends  ought  not  to  lose 
sight  of  each  other.  Soles  occidere  et 
redire  possunt — you  know." 

The  other  gave  a  brief  and  good- 
humoured  account  of  himself. 

"  And  you  have  lived  here  alone 
all  the  winter,"  said  Worboys. 
,"  Not  like  you ;  you  were  so 
sociable  ;  the  life  and  soul  of  our 
old  sym  posia — though  I  don't  know 
that  I  ought  to  say  our^  for  I  seldom 
found  time  to  join  in  such  relaxa- 
tions. A  pity ;  I  regret  it.  The 
illness  of  last  autumn  made  me  all 
at  once  an  old  man.  And  no  doubt 
that's  why  Louis  finds  me  so  un- 
sympathetic. Though  I  like  him  ^ 
yes,    I    really     like     him.     Don't 


l8 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

imagine  that  he  is  illiterate.  He'll 
make  a  notable  man,  if  he  lives. 
Yes,  I  regret  to  say  that  his  health 
leaves  much  to  be  desired.  In  Italy 
he  had  a  troublesome  fever — not 
grave,  but  difficult  to  shake  off. 
He  lives  at  such  high  pressure ; 
perpetual  fever  of  the  mind.  Our 
project  was  to  spend  a  whole  twelve- 
month abroad.  We  ought  not  to  have 
reached  Athens  till  the  autumn  of 
this  year  ;  yet  here  we  are.  Louis 
can't  stay  in  any  place  more  than 
a  week  or  so,  and  to  resist  him  is 
really  dangerous — I  mean  for  his 
health.  Lady  Revill  allows  me 
complete  discretion,  but  it's  really 
Louis  who  directs  our  travel.  I 
wanted  to  devote  at  least  a  month 
to  the  antiquities  at  Rome.  There 
are  several  questions  I  should  like 
to   have    settled    for    myself.     For 

instance " 

He  went  off  into  Roman  archaeo- 
logy, and  his  companion,  excused 
from  listening,  walked  in  reverie. 
Thus  they  ascended  the  long  street 


19 


SLEEPING    FIRES, 


of  Hermes,  which  brought  them  to 
the  Place  of  the  Constitution,  and 
in  view  of  Mr.  Worboys'  hotel,  the 
approved  resort  which  Langley  had 
taken  trouble  to  avoid.  As  they 
drew  near  to  the  entrance,  a  young 
man,  walking  briskly,  approached 
from  the  opposite  quarter,  and  of  a 
sudden  Worboys  exclaimed  : 
"  Ha  !  here  comes  our 
friend." 


young 


2Q 


II. 


OUIS,  let  me  introduce 
you  to  a  very  old  friend 
of  mine,  Mr.  Langley. 
We  were  contempora- 
ries at  Cambridge,  and 
after  many  years  we 
meet  unexpectedly  in 
the  Kerameikos  ! " 

The  young  man 
stepped  forward  with 
peculiarly  frank  and 
pleasant  address.  It 
was  evident  at  a  glance  that  his 
physique  would  support  no  serious 
strain ;  he  had  a  very  light  and 
graceful  figure,  with  narrow 
shoulders,  small  hands  and  feet,  and 
a  head  which  for  beauty  and  poise 
would    not    have    misbecome    the 


21 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

youthful  Hermes.  Grotesque  in- 
deed was  the  aspect  of  his  blue- 
spectacled  tutor  standing  side  by 
side  with  Louis.  On  the  other 
hand,  when  he  and  Langley  came 
together,  a  certain  natural  harmony 
appeared  in  the  two  figures ;  it 
might  even  have  been  observed  that 
their  faces  offered  a  mutual  re- 
semblance, sufficient  to  excuse  a 
stranger  for  supposing  them  akin. 
Louis,  though  only  a  golden  down 
appeared  upon  his  chin,  and  the 
mere  suggestion  of  a  moustache  on 
his  lip,  looked  older  than  he  was  by 
two  or  three  years  ;  perhaps  the 
result  of  that  slight  frown,  a  fixed 
but  not  unamiable  characteristic  of 
his  physiognomy,  which  was  notice- 
able also  on  Langley's  visage.  The 
elder  man  bearing  his  age  so  lightly, 
they  might  have  been  taken  for 
brothers. 

"  I  have  been  to  the  Cemetery," 
was  Louis's  first  remark.  "  Do  you 
know  it,  Mr.  Langley  ?  The 
monuments   are   nearly  as   hideous 


^2 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

as  those  at  Naples.  There's  a 
marble  life-sized  medallion  of  a 
man  in  his  habit  as  he  lived,  and^ 
by  Jove,  if  they  haven't  gilded  the 
studs  in  his  shirt-front !  " 

"  Hov^^  interesting  !  "  exclaimed 
the  tutor.  "The  sculptors  of  the 
great  age  vi^ere  just  as  realistic." 

"With  a  difference,"  Langley 
interposed. 

"  And  something  else  that  will 
delight  you,  Mr.  Worboys,"  the 
youth  continued.  "  There's  a  public 
notice,  painted  on  a  board,  in  con- 
tinuous lettering,  w^ithout  spaces — 
just  like  the  Codices  !  " 

His  emphasis  on  the  last  word 
evidently  had  humorous  reference 
to  Mr.  Worboys'  habits  of  speech. 
Langley  smiled,  but  Worboys  was 
delighted. 

"  But  they  stick  a  skull  and  cross- 
bones  on  their  tombs,"  pursued 
Louis.  "  That's  hideously  degene- 
rate. Your  ancient  friends,  Mr. 
Worboys,  knew  better  how  to  deal 
with  death." 


2% 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

To  Langley's  ears  this  remark 
had  an  unexpectedness  which  made 
him  regard  the  speaker  more  closely. 
Louis  had  something  more  in  him 
than  youthful  vivacity  and  sprightli- 
ness  ;  his  soft-glancing  eyes  could 
look  below  the  surface  of  things. 

"  You  observe,  Langley,"  said  the 
tutor,  "  that  he  speaks  of  my  ancient 
friends.  Louis  is  a  terribly  modern 
young  man.  I  can't  get  him  to 
care  much  about  the  classical  civili- 
sations. The  idea  of  his  running 
ofF  to  see  a  new  cemetery,  when  he 
hasn't  yet  seen  the  Theseion  !  And 
that  reminds  me,  Langley ;  I  am 
strongly  tempted  to  believe  with 
some  of  the  Germans  that  the 
Theseion  isn't  a  temple  of  Theseus 
at  all.     I'll  show  you  my  reasons." 

He  did  so,  with  Ausfilhrlichkeit 
and  Gfundlichkeit^  as  they  ascended 
the  steps  of  the  hotel.  Langley, 
the  while,  continued  observant  of 
Louis  Reed,  with  whom,  presently, 
he  was  able  to  converse  at  his  ease  ; 
for   Worboys   recognised   that    the 


24 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

costume  in  which  it  delighted  him 
to  roam  among  ruins  would  be  in- 
appropriate at  the  luncheon-table. 
Louis,  when  the  waiter  in  the 
vestibule  had  dusted  him  from  head 
to  heel — a  necessary  service  per- 
formed for  all  who  entered — needed 
to  make  no  change  of  dress  ;  he 
wore  the  clothing  which  would 
have  suited  him  on  a  warm  spring 
day  in  England,  and  the  minutiae 
of  his  attire  denoted  a  quiet  taste, 
a  sense  of  social  propriety,  agreeable 
to  Langley's  eye.  They  had  no 
difficulty  in  exchanging  reflections 
on  things  Continental.  Louis  talked 
with  animation,  yet  with  deference. 
It  was  easy  to  perceive  his  pleasure 
in  finding  an  acquaintance  more 
sympathetic  than  the  erudite  but 
hidebound  Worboys. 

When  all  three  sat  down  tS  the 
meal,  Worboys  drew  attention  to 
the  wine  that  was  put  before  him. 
Cotes  de  Parnes,  with  the  brand 
of  "  Solon  and  Co." 

''  We  cannot  drink  the  wine  of 


25 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

the  gods,"  he  observed  with  a 
chuckle,  "  but  here  is  the  next  best 
thing — the  wine  of  the  philoso- 
phers." 

Louis  averted  his  face.  It  was 
the  fifth  day  since  their  arrival  at 
Athens,  and  his  tutor  had  indulged 
in  this  joke  at  least  once  daily. 

"By  the  by,  Langley,  where  are 
you  staying  ?  " 

Langley  named  the  hotel,  and 
briefly  described  it. 

"  How  interesting  !  Yes,  that's 
much  better." 

"  I  should  think  so  !  "  exclaimed 
Louis.  "  Why  shouldn't  we  go 
there,  Mr.  Worboys  ?  Living  like 
this,  what  can  we  get  to  know  of 
the  life  of  the  country  ?  That's 
what  I  care  about,  Mr.  Langley. 
I  want  to  see  how  the  people  live 
nowadays.  It  matters  very  little 
what  they  did  ages  ago.  It  seems 
to  me  that  life  isn't  long  enough  to 
live  in  the  past  as  well  as  in  the 
present.'^ 

Yet    you   concern    yourself   a 


26 


u 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

great  deal  with  the  future,  my  dear 
boy,"  remarked  Worboys. 

"  Yes  ;  I  can't  help  that.  Isn't 
the  future  growing  in  us  ?  And 
surely  it's  a  duty  to " 

Either  incapacity  to  express  him- 
self, or  a  modest  self-restraint,  caused 
him  to  break  off  and  bend  over  his 
plate.  For  some  minutes  after  this 
he  kept  silence,  whilst  Mr.  Worboys 
pleaded,  in  set  phrase,  for  the  study 
of  the  classics  and  all  that  appertained 
thereto.  Langley  observed  that  the 
young  man  ate  delicately  and  spar- 
ingly, but  that  he  was  by  no  means 
so  moderate  in  his  use  of  the  philo- 
sophic beverage.  Louis  drank  glass 
after  glass  of  undiluted  wine,  a 
practice  which  his  tutor's  classic 
sympathies  ought  surely  to  have  dis- 
approved. But  possibly  Mr.  Worboys, 
even  without  his  coloured  spectacles, 
had  not  become  aware  of  it. 

They  repaired  to  the  smoking- 
room,  where  Louis  lit  a  cigarette. 
The  wine  had  not  made  him  talka- 
tive ;    rather  it  seemed  to  lull  his 


27 


SLEEPING   FIR^S. 

vivacious  temper,  to  w^rap  him  in 
meditation  or  day-dream.  He  lay 
back  and  watched  the  curHng  of 
the  smoke ;  on  his  emotional  lips  a 
smile  of  gentle  melancholy,  his 
eyes  wide  and  luminous  in  mental 
vision.  When  he  had  sat  thus  for 
a  few  minutes,  he  was  approached 
by  a  waiter,  who  handed  him  two 
letters.  Instantly  his  countenance 
flashed  into  vivid  life ;  having 
glanced  at  the  writing  on  the 
envelopes,  he  held  them  with  a  tight 
grasp ;  and  very  shortly,  seeing  that 
his  friends  were  conversing,  he 
walked  from  the  room. 

"There  now,"  remarked  Wor- 
boys.  "He's  been  wild  with  im 
patience  for  letters.  One  of  them, 
no  doubt,  is  from  Lady  Revill,  but 
it  isn't  that  he  was  waiting  for.  Do 
you  know  a  certain  Mrs.  Tresilian  ? " 
«  What— /^^  Mrs.  Tresihan  ?  " 
"  Really,  I  never  heard  the  name 
till  Louis  spoke  of  her.  Is  she 
distinguished  ?  A  lady  of  so-called 
advanced  opinions." 


28 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  the  Mrs.  Tresilian 
of  public  fame,  no  doubt,"  said 
Langley,  with  interest.  "I  don't 
know  her  personally.  Is  she  a 
friend  of  his  ?  " 

"My  dear  Langley,  it  sounds 
very  absurd,  but  I'm  afraid  the  poor 
boy  has  quite  lost  his  head  about 
her.  And  I  suspect — I  only  suspect 
—  that  Lady  Revill  wished  to  re- 
move him  beyond  the  sphere  of  her 
malign  influence.  She  spoke  to 
me  of  ^unfortunate  influences'  in 
his  life,  but  mentioned  no  name. 
Who  is  this  lady  ?  What  is  her  age  ? " 

"  I  know  very  little  of  her,  ex- 
cept that  she  addresses  meetings  on 
political  and  humanitarian  subjects. 
A  woman  with  a  head,  I  believe, 
and  rather  eloquent.  Her  age  ? 
Oh,  five  and  thirty,  perhaps,  to 
judge  from  her  portraits.  Hand- 
some, undeniably.  How  can  he 
have  got  into  her  circle  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  idea,"  Worboys  re- 
plied, with  a  gesture  of  helplessness. 
"  I  know  nothing  of  that  sphere." 


29 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 


"  And  they  correspond  ?  " 

"  I  am  convinced  they  do  ; 
though  Louis  has  never  said  so. 
I  surmise  it  from  his  talk  in — in 
moments  of  unusual  expaniiveness. 
And  imagine  how  it  must  distress 
such  a  person  as  Lady  Revill  !  " 

Langley  mused  before  he  spoke 
again. 

"You  mean  that  she  fears  for 
his — or  the  lady's — morals  ?  " 

"Oh,  dear  me,  I  didn't  mean 
that  !  But  the  effects  on  a  young, 
excitable  nature  of  such  principles 
as  Mrs.  Tresilian  appears  to  hold  ! 
Perhaps  you  are  not  aw^are  of  the 
strong  conservatism  of  Lady  Revill's 
mind  ?  " 

"  I  see,"  faltered  the  other.  "  She 
seriously  desires  to  guard  him  from 
'  advanced  opinion  '  ?  " 

"  Most  seriously.  I  have  told  you 
that  she  has  almost  a  maternal  affec- 
tion for  the  boy.  How  it  must 
shock  her  to  see  him  going  off  into 
those  wild  speculations — seeking  to 
undermine  all  she  reverences  !  " 


30 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

"  Is  he  such  a  revolutionist  ?  " 
Langley  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"  Well,  I  have  sometimes  thought 
him  a  sort  of  Shelley,"  ventured  the 
tutor,  with  amusing  diffidence. 
"Though  I  don't  know  that  he 
writes  verses.  However,  you  see 
the  points  of  similarity  ?  A  strange 
youth,  altogether.  As  I  said,  I 
can't  help  liking  him.  I  daresay 
he'll  outgrow  his  follies." 

Langley  smoked  and  was  silent. 
The  other,  thinking  the  subject 
dismissed,  uttered  a  remark  tending 
to  matters  archaic  ;  but  Langley 
disregarded  it  and  spoke  again. 

"  What's  his  origin  —  do  you 
know  ?  " 

"Really,  I  don't.  He  never 
speaks  of  it — Lady  Revill  only 
said  that  he  was  an  orphan,  and 
her  ward." 

"  Where  has  he  been  educated  ?  " 

"  Private  tutors,  and  private 
schools.  Of  course  Lady  Revill 
wishes  him  to  pass  to  a  University, 
but  it  seems  he  is   set  against  it. 


31 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

He  has  some  extraordinary  idea 
that  he  is  old  enough,  and  educated 
sufficiently,  to  begin  the  serious 
business  of  life ;  though  I  don't 
gather  what  he  means  exactly  by 
that.  I  conceive  that  Mrs.  Tresi- 
lian  is  responsible  for  such  vagaries. 
He  appears  to  reprobate  the  thought 
of  being  connected  vi^ith  the  aris- 
tocracy— part  of  his  Shelleyism,  of 
course.  I  almost  believe  that  he 
would  like  to  take  some  active  part 
in  democratic  politics." 

"  H'm — the  type  is  familiar," 
murmured  Langley.  "  Nothing 
very  abnormal  about  him,  I  dare- 
say. And  it  occurred  to  Lady 
Revill  that  your  companionship 
might  abate  these  ecstasies  ?  " 

''That,"  Worboys  replied,  with 
modesty,  "  appears  to  have  been  her 
view.  A  student  who  has  given 
some  proof  of  soHd  attainment  might 
naturally  seem " 

"To  be  sure,"  interposed  the 
other,  suavely.  "  But  our  young 
friend  seems  cut  out  for  rather 
obstinate  independence." 


?■ 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

"I  really  fear  so."  And  Mr. 
Worboys  shook  his  sage  head. 

At  this  moment  Louis  re-entered 
the  room.  He  had  a  flushed  face, 
and  an  air  of  exaltation.  Stepping 
rapidly  up  to  the  two  men,  he 
threw  himself  upon  a  chair  beside 
them,  and  said  with  a  boyish 
laugh : 

"Well,  Mr.  Worboys,  I'm  quite 
ready  for  the  Theseion  or  the 
Kerameikos,  or  anything  you  like 
to  propose.  But  when  are  we 
going  to  Salamis — and  to  Marathon 
— and  to  climb  Pentelikon  ?  I 
should  really  like  to  see  Marathon. 
And  Thermopylae  better  still.  Of 
course  we  must  get  to  Ther- 
mopylae." 

This  led  to  a  discussion  with 
Langley  of  facilities  for  travel  m 
the  remoter  parts  of  Greece.  It 
ended  in  their  all  strolling  out 
together,  and  having  a  drive  to 
Phaleron,  on  the  white  dusty  road 
which  is  the  fashionable  course  for 
carriages  and  equestrians  at  Athens. 


33 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

Worboys  talked  about  the  ^'  Long 
Walls  "  ;  Louis  Reed  was  in  a  spor- 
tive spirit,  and  found  mirth  in 
everything.  Their  companion  said 
little,  but  listened  good-naturedly 
and  smiled.  Once,  too,  when  his 
eyes  had  been  fixed  for  a  moment 
on  the  boy's  bright  countenance,  he 
seemed  to  sigh. 


^1 


III. 

N  the  view  of  most 
of  his  acquaintances, 
Edmund  Langley's 
life  seemed  to  have 
followed  a  very  smooth 
and  ordinary  course. 
There  was  no  break  of 
continuity,  no  sudden 
change  in  himself  or 
his  circumstances,  in 
the  retrospect  of  two 
and  twenty  years : 
that  is  to  say,  since 
he  began  to  disappoint 
the  friends  who  had 
looked  to  him  for  a 
brilliant  career  at  Cambridge.  Bril- 
liant, in  a  manner,  it  was  j  in  his 
undergraduate  group  he  shone  as  a 
leading  light,  and  later  his  reputa- 


35 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

tion  as  a  man  of  clever  and  im- 
posing talk,  held  good  with  those 
who  regretted  his  failure  in  the 
contests  of  scholarship.  He  left 
the  University  with  a  mere  degree, 
and  went  to  London  to  read  law. 

It  was  very  leisurely  reading,  for 
no  necessity  spurred  him  on.  His 
ambitions  at  that  time  were  politi- 
cal, and  he  enjoyed  a  private  income 
which  allowed  him  to  think  of 
Parliament ;  personally  devoted  to 
a  liberal  culture,  he  was  prepared 
to  take  the  popular-progressive  side, 
and  to  accept  with  genial  humour 
those  articles  of  the  popular  creed 
which  he  no  longer  held  with  his 
early  enthusiasm.  But  nothing 
came  of  it.  When,  in  his  twenty- 
sixth  year,  an  opportunity  of  candi- 
dature offered  itself,  he  declined  for 
rather  vague  reasons,  and  soon  after 
it  became  known  that  he  was  to 
accompany  on  extensive  travels  a 
young  nobleman,  who  had  been  his 
contemporary  at  Cambridge.  Six 
months  after  their  departure    from 


^6 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

England,  the  luckless  Peer  suffered 
a  perilous  accident,  which  lamed 
him  for  life.  They  returned,  and 
Langley,  for  some  fifteen  years, 
remained  with  his  friend  as  private 
secretary.  In  that  capacity  he  had 
very  little  to  do,  but  the  life  was 
agreeable ;  he  found  satisfaction  in 
the  society  of  a  liberal-minded  circle, 
learned  to  smile  at  the  projects  of 
his  early  manhood,  and  soothed  his 
leisure  with  studies  utterly  remote 
from  any  popular  or  progressive 
programme.  The  nobleman's  death 
enriched  him  with  a  legacy  of 
which  he  stood  in  no  need  what- 
ever, and  murmuring  to  himself^ 
"  To  him  that  hath  shall  be  given,' 
he  wandered  off  to  spend  a  year  or 
two  abroad. 

Beneath  this  placid  flow  of  exis- 
tence lay  hidden  a  sorrow  of  which 
he  spoke  to  no  one.  The  occasion 
of  it  was  far  behind  him,  in  the 
years  of  turbulent  youth ;  for  a  long 
time  it  had  troubled  him  little,  and 
only  when  his  spirits  invited  care ; 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

but  these  latter  months  of  solitude 
tended  to  revive  the  old  distress, 
with  new  features  attributable  to 
the  stage  of  life  that  he  had 
reached.  He  knew  not  whether  to 
be  glad  or  sorry,  when  a  casual 
meeting  at  Athens  brought  vividly 
before  his  mind  the  bygone  things 
he  had  so  Ions;  tried  to  forjjet. 

After  the  drive  with  Worboys 
and  Louis  Reed,  he  returned  to  his 
hotel  in  a  mood  of  melancholy. 
The  evening,  usually  a  pleasant 
enough  time  over  his  books,  dragged 
with  something  worse  than  tedium; 
and  the  night  that  followed  was 
such  as  he  had  not  known  for  many 
years.  Out  of  the  darkness,  a  tor- 
menting memory  evoked  two  faces  ; 
the  one  pale  and  blurred,  refusing 
distinct  presentment,  even  to  the 
obstinate  efforts  which,  in  spite  of 
himself,  he  repeated  hour  after  hour; 
the  other  so  distinct,  so  living,  that 
at  moments  it  thrilled  him  as  with 
a  touch  of  the  supernatural — a  light 
on  the  features,  a  play  of  expression, 


38 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

all  but  a  voice  from  the  moving  lips. 
Faces  of  character  much  unlike, 
though  both  female,  and  both  young. 
The  one  which  haunted  himelusivel); 
had  but  a  superficial  charm  :  no 
depth  in  the  smiling  eyes,  no  in- 
tellectual beauty  on  the  brows  ;  the 
moment's  fancy  of  sensual  youth  ; 
powerless  to  subdue,  to  retain. 
The  other,  clear  upon  the  gloom, 
spoke  a  finer  womanhood,  so  much 
more  nobly  endowed  in  qualities  of 
flesh  and  spirit  that  its  beauty  seemed 
to  scorn  comparison.  Animation, 
self-command,  the  dignity  of  breed- 
ing and  intelligence,  lighted  its 
lineaments.  It  was  the  woman 
whom  a  man  in  his  maturity  desires 
unashamed. 

In  these  visions  of  the  troubled 
night  he  saw  also  a  large  house,  old 
and  pleasant  to  the  eye,  which  stood 
beyond  the  limits  of  a  manufactu 
ring  town,  planted  about  with  fair 
trees,  and  walled  from  the  frequented 
highway.  He  heard  a  soft  roll  of 
carriage  wheels   on   the  drive,  the 


39 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

sound  of  cheery  voices  beneath  the 
portico^  he  felt  the  languid,  scented 
air  of  an  old-time  garden,  where 
fruits  hung  ripe.  And  in  the 
garden  walked  Agnes  Forrest, 
youngest  of  the  children  of  the 
house,  but  already  in  her  twenty- 
first  year.  Her  father  was  no  man 
of  yesterday's  uprising,  but  the  son 
and  grandson  of  substantial  mer- 
chants ;  he  sat  among  his  family 
and  his  guests,  a  reverend  potentate. 
The  suggestion  of  her  name  did 
not  well  accord  with  Agnes'  cha- 
racter. Had  humility  been  her 
distinguishing  virtue,  Langley  would 
never  have  made  her  his  ideal  of 
womanhood.  He  knew  her  strono^ 
of  will,  and  found  her  opinions 
frequently  at  variance  with  his 
own  ;  all  the  more  delightful 
to  perceive  his  influence  in  the 
directing  of  her  mind.  She  was 
no  great  student,  and  took  her  full 
share  in  the  active  pleasures  of  life ; 
rode  as  well  as  she  danced  ;  seemed 
to  have  admirable  judgment  in  dress ; 


40 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

enjoyed  society,  and  liked  to  shine 
in  it.  Her  ridicule  of  sentimentali- 
ties by  no  means  discouraged  the 
lover  ;  it  suited  his  taste,  and  could 
throw  no  doubt  upon  the  capacity 
for  strong  feeling  which  he  had 
often  noted  in  her.  The  general 
conservatism  of  her  thought  was 
far  from  distasteful  to  him,  smile  as 
he  might  at  some  of  its  manifesta- 
tions ;  she  never  opposed  reason 
with  mere  feminine  prejudice,  and 
Langley  was  disposed  to  regard 
woman  as  the  natural  safeguard  of 
traditions  that  have  an  abiding  value. 
She  was  not  a  girl  to  be  lightly 
wooed,  and  won  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Her  beauty  and  her  bril-' 
liant  social  qualities  cost  him  many 
an  anxious  hour,  even  when  he 
believed  himself  gently  encouraged. 
She  did  not  conceal  her  ambitions ; 
happily,  he  felt  that  she  credited 
him  with  abiHties  of  the  conquering 
kind. 

The  old-time    garden,  and   two 
who  walked  there,  with  long  silences 


41 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

between  the  v/ords  that  still  dis- 
guised their  deeper  meaning.  Lang- 
ley  knew  himself  peculiarly  welcome 
to  the  parents,  and  felt  a  reasonable 
assurance  that  Agnes  wished  him  to 
speak.  On  this  same  day,  as  it 
chanced.  Sir  Thomas  Revill,  the 
borough  member,  a  widower  of 
middle  age,  was  one  of  the  guests. 
Mr.  Forrest  seemed  less  cordial  to 
the  baronet  than  to  the  friend  of 
lower  rank.  But  Langley  let  the 
day  pass,  for  a  scruple  restrained 
his  tongue.  After  a  night  when 
temptation  had  all  but  vanquished 
conscience,  he  sought  a  private 
interview  with  Agnes'  father. 

"  Mr.  Forrest,"  he  began  frankly, 
yet  with  diffidence,  "you  cannot 
but  see  that  I  love  your  daughter, 
and  that  I  wish  to  ask  her  if  she 
will  be  my  wife." 

"  I  have  suspected  it,  my  dear 
Langley,"  was  the  old  man's  reply, 
as  he  smiled  with  satisfaction. 

"  I  dare  not  speak  to  her  until  1 
have   told    you    something,    which 


42 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

perhaps  you  will  think  ought  to 
have  forbidden  me  to  approach 
Miss  Forrest  at  all. — Three  years 
ago,  in  London,  I  formed  a  con- 
nection which  resulted  in  my 
becoming  the  father  of  a  child. 
The  mother  subsequently  married, 
and  left  England,  taking  this  child 
with  her — her  own  desire,  and  with 
the  consent  of  her  husband.  I  could 
not  oppose  it ;  perhaps  I  hardly  felt 
any  desire  to  do  so,  though  I  need 
not  say  that  mother  and  child  both 
had  a  claim  upon  me  which  I  never 
dreamt  of  disputing.  Her  place  in 
life  was  below  my  own,  and  she 
married  a  man  of  her  own  class. 
When  she  last  took  leave  of  me — 
we  had  lived  apart  for  more  than  a 
year — I  told  her  that,  if  circum- 
stances ever  made  it  necessary,  she 
was  to  look  to  me  again  for  aid,  and 
that,  if  ever  she  desired  it,  I  would 
bring  up  the  child  in  every  way  as 
my  own — short  of  public  acknow- 
ledgment. She  went  to  South  Africa, 
and    I    have   since   heard   nothing. 


43 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

But  there  is  still  the  possibility 
that  I  may  be  called  upon  to  keep 
my  word.  This  I  am  obliged  to 
tell  you.  I  cannot  speak  of  it  to 
Miss  Forrest." 

He  paused  with  eyes  cast  down, 
and  Mr.  Forrest  kept  a  short 
silence. 

"An  unpleasant  business,  Lang- 
ley,"  the  old  man  remarked  at 
length,  in  a  perplexed,  but  not  a 
severe  voice.  "  Of  course  you  are 
right  to  speak  of  it.  A  very  awk- 
ward matter." 

He  mused  again,  then  began  to 
interrogate.  Langley  answered 
with  all  frankness.  He  was  not 
responsible  for  the  girl's  lapse  from 
virtue ;  that  must  be  laid  to  the 
account  of  the  man  who  at  length 
married  her.  In  every  respect, 
save  for  this  trouble  of  conscience, 
he  was  honourably  free. 

"  The  deuce  of  it  is,"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Forrest,  at  last,  "that  women 
have  a  way  of  their  own  of  regard- 
ing  this  sort  of  thing.      For  my 


44 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

own  part — well,  a  young  man  is  a 
young  man.  You  were  three  and 
twenty.  I  can  understand  and  excuse^. 
But  women " 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  to  ask 
who  the  girl  was,  and  on  this  point 
Langley  offered  no  information 
beyond  what  he  had  said  of  her 
social  position, 

"I  know  quite  well,  Langley, 
that  this,  as  it  regards  yourself, 
forms  no  presumption  whatever 
against  your  making  Agnes  a  good 
husband,  if  you  married  her.  Your 
self-respect  won't  allow  you  to  urge 
assurances  of  that ;  I  know  it  all 
the  same,  because  I  have  a  pretty 
fair  knowledge  of  you.  But  women 
think  differently.  There's  nothing 
for  it,  I  fear  :  I  must  talk  with  my 
wife  about  it." 

Langley  bowed  to  the  decision 
he  had  foreseen.  He  went  away 
with  misery  in  his  heart,  cursing  the 
honesty  that  had  made  him  speak. 
Mr.  Forrest's  liberality  of  view 
might,  only  too  probably,   be   ex- 


45 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

plained  by  his  certainty  that  Agnes' 
mother  would  never  consent  to  the 
proposed  marriage.  "  Should  I  my- 
self give  my  daughter  to  a  man 
who  came  with  such  a  story  ?  " 

A  day  passed,  and  again  he  was 
closeted  with  the  old  man. 

"  Langley,  my  wife  won't  hear 
of  this  being  mentioned  to  Agnes." 

Oh,  cursed  folly  !  And  it  seemed, 
now,  such  an  easy  thing  to  have 
kept  silence. 

"It's  my  own  fault.  I  ought 
never  to  have  dared " 

"  Remember,  Langley,  how  very 
recently  these  things  have  hap- 
pened." 

"I  know — I  see  all  the  folly,  and 
worse,  that  I  have  been  guilty  of. 
Pardon  it,  if  you  can,  Mr.  Forrest, 
to  one  who  is  for  the  first  time  in 
love — and  with  Agnes." 

Ten  minutes,  and  all  was  over. 
Langley  tnarned  from  the  house, 
thinking  to  see  its  occupants  no 
more. 

But  to  the  relief  of  misery  came 


46 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

common-sense.  What  right  had 
he  thus  to  turn  his  back  on  Agnes 
without  a  word  of  explanation  ? 
His  mysterious  behaviour  could  not 
but  result  in  confidences  of  some 
kind  between  Agnes  and  her  parents. 
They,  worthy  people,  assuredly 
would  spare  him  ;  but,  short  of 
telling  the  truth,  how  could  they 
avoid  misrepresentation  which  in 
Agnes'  mind  must  have  all  the 
effect  of  calumny  ?  Impossible 
to  let  the  matter  end  thus.  He 
wrote  to  Mr.  Forrest,  and  urged, 
with  all  respect,  his  claim  to  be 
judged  by  Agnes  herself.  Was 
she  yet  one  and  twenty  ?  In  any 
case  she  had  attained  responsible 
womanhood.  He  begged  that  this 
point  might  receive  consideration. 

"  We  were  obliged  to  speak  to 
Agnes,"  replied  the  father.  "  We 
have  told  her  that  something  has 
happened  which  unexpectedly  makes 
it  impossible  for  you  to  think  of 
marriage.  This  was  all.  I  fear 
you  have  no  choice  but  to  preserve 


47 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

absolute  silence.  Agnes  is  just  of 
age,  but  her  mother  and  I  feel  very 
strongly  that,  out  of  regard  for  her 
happiness,  you  ought  to  think  of 
her  no  more.  Our  friends,  of 
course,  shall  never  surmise  anything 
disagreeable  from  our  manner  when 
you  are  spoken  of.  At  the  worst  it 
will  be  imagined  that  Agnes  has 
declined  to  marry  you." 

Regard  for  his  old  friends  kept 
Langley  silent  for  a  week  ;  then 
his  passion  overcame  him.  He 
wrote  two  letters — one  to  Agnes, 
simply  offering  marriage  ;  the  other 
to  Mr.  Forrest,  saying  what  he  had 
done,  asserting  his  right,  and  begging 
that  Agnes  might  be  told  the  plain 
facts  of  the  case  before  she  answered 
him.  The  next  day  brought  Mr. 
Forrest's  reply,  a  few  coldly  civil 
lines,  stating  that  Agnes  had  been 
informed  of  everything.  Another 
day,  and  Agnes  herself  wrote,  just 
as  briefly — a  courteous  refusal. 

Then  Langley  left  England  with 
his  friend  the  nobleman.     He  had 


48 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

battled  through  amorous  despair, 
but  the  disaster  seemed  to  drain  his 
life  of  hope  and  purpose  ;  succumb- 
ing to  fatality,  he  must  make  the 
best  of  sunless  years. 

A  few  months  of  travel  dispelled 
this  unnatural  gloom.  He  began 
to  foster  the  thought  that  Agnes' 
parents  were  both  aged  j  it  could 
not  be  expected  that  either  would 
be  alive  ten  years  hence,  and  half 
that  period  might  see  both  removed. 
If  Agnes  cared  much  for  him,  she 
would  wait  on  the  future.  If  he 
had  been  mistaken,  and  her  heart 
were  not  gravely  wounded,  she 
would  make  proof  of  liberty  by 
marrying  another  man.  In  which 
case 

Langley  knew  not  how  securely 
he  had  come  to  count  upon  Miss 
Forrest's  fidelity,  until  one  day  the 
news  reached  him  that  she  was 
Miss  Forrest  no  longer.  Agnes  had 
married  the  middle-aged  member  of 
Parliament,  and  henceforth  must  be 
thought  of  as  Lady  Revill.     That 


49 


SLEEPING    FIRES 

chapter  of  life,  whether  or  not  the 
doom  of  his  existence,  was  finally 
closed.  She  had  waited  barely  a 
twelvemonth,  so  that,  in  all  likeli- 
hood, his  timid  love-making  had 
but  feebly  impressed  her.  Another 
twelvemonth,  and  Mr.  Forrest  was 
dead;  two  years  later  Agnes'  mother 
followed  him.  Oh,  the  folly  of  it 
all !  The  imbecile  hesitation  where 
common-sense  pointed  his  path ! 
She  liked  him  well  enough  to  marry 
him,  and  probably  her  life,  as  well 
as  his  own,  must  miss  its  consum- 
mation because  he  had  played  the 
pedant  in  morals. 

This  regret  had  long  lost  its 
poignancy,  though  it  imparted  a 
sober  tinge  to  the  epicureanism 
whereby  Langley  thought  to  direct 
his  otherwise  purposeless  life.  But 
the  course  of  years  shaped  into  con- 
scious sorrow  that  loss  which,  as  a 
young  man,  he  had  hardly  regarded 
as  a  loss  at  all.  He  grew  to  an 
understanding  of  the  wantonness 
with    which    he    had    acted    in    so 


SO 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 


lightly  abandoning  his  child.  Whilst 
the  petty  casuistry  of  his  relations 
with  Agnes  Forrest  was  capable  of 
compelling  him  into  perverse  hero- 
ism, he  had  committed  what  now 
seemed  to  him  a  much  graver 
recklessness  —  perhaps,  indeed,  a 
crime — with  but  the  faintest  twinge 
of  conscience.  His  child,  his  son, 
would  now  be  grown  up — a  young 
man,  about  the  same  age  as  Louis 
Reed  ;  and  in  such  companionship 
how  different  would  the  world 
appear  to  him  !  In  love  with 
Agnes,  he  had  been  glad  to  rid 
himself  of  a  troublesome  and  dan- 
gerous responsibility.  For  the 
mother — and  this  fact  he  had  with- 
held in  his  confession — belonged  to 
the  town  in  which  the  Forres ts 
were  practically  resident,  and  where 
he  had  other  friends^  a  coincidence 
unknown  to  him  when  he  made 
her  acquaintance  in  London, 
Rescued  from  the  evil  of  sense 
only  to  be  rapt  aloft  by  romantic 
passion,  what   thought   had   he   of 


51 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

the  duties  and  the  rewards  of  pater- 
nity ?  Now,  a  sobered  and  some- 
what lonely  man,  he  saw  the  result 
of  his  hasty  act  in  a  very  different 
light.  Perchance  the  boy  was  dead ; 
if  living,  better  perchance  that  he 
should  have  died.  What  future 
could  be  hoped  for  him,  delivered 
into  such  hands  ? 

For  the  disregard  of  duty  con- 
science offered  excuse.  His  rela- 
tions with  the  girl  had  worn  no 
semblance  of  conjugality  ;  they 
never  lived  together ;  he  had  seen 
the  child  but  once  or  twice  ;  every 
obligation  imposed  by  the  worldly 
code  of  honour  he  had  abundantly 
discharged.  The  girl,  moreover, 
had  not  loved  him  ;  he  found  her 
(though  ignorant  of  the  circum- 
stances till  long  afterwards)  on  the 
brink  of  hopeless  degradation,  the 
result  of  her  having  been  forsaken 
by  the  man  for  whom  she  strayed, 
and  whom  she  subsequently  mar- 
ried. As  far  as  she  was  concerned 
he  might  reasonably  be  at  rest,  for 


52 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

in  all  probability  his  conduct  saved 
her  from  the  abyss.  But  such 
reasoning  did  not  help  him  to  for- 
get that  he  had  had  a  son,  and  that 
he  had  wantonly  made  himself 
childless.  It  were  well  if  the  child 
did  not  at  this  moment  think  with 
bitterness  of  an  unknown  parent, 
or,  thinking  not  at  all,  live  basely 
amid  base  companions. 

He  had  never  sought  for  tidings 
of  them ;  it  was  possible,  and 
merely  possible,  that  inquiries  in 
the  town  he  never  revisited  might 
have  had  results.  But  if  the  child's 
mother  had  wished  to  communicate 
with  him  she  could  always  have 
done  so  ;  that  was  provided  for  at 
their  parting.  It  might  be  that 
neither  she  nor  the  boy  had  ever 
needed  him  ;  the  man  she  married, 
a  petty  traveller  in  commerce,  per- 
haps behaved  well  to  them  in  the 
new  country ;  that  the  girl  was 
permitted  to  take  her  child  seemed 
in  her  husband's  favour.  For  her, 
too,  did  it  not  speak  well  that  she 


53 


SLEEPING    FIRES, 

would  not  forsake  the  li^-tle  one  ? 
A  weak,  silly  girl,  but  not  without 
good  traits ;  he  remembered  her, 
though  dimly,  with  kindness — nay, 
with  a  certain  respect.  After 
all 

Well,  it  was  the  sight  of  Louis 
Reed  that  had  turned  him  to 
melancholy  musing.  A  son  of 
that  age,  a  handsome,  intelligent 
lad,  overflowing  with  the  zeal  and 
the  zest  of  life  ,  with  such  a  one  at 
his  side  how  lightly  and  joyously 
would  he  walk  among  these  ruins 
of  the  old  world  !  What  flow  off 
talk !  What  happiness  of  silent 
sympathy  ! 

So  passed  the  night. 


54 


the    poet, 
which    is 


IV. 

HE  window  of  Lang- 
ley's  bedroom  opened 
on     to     a    balcony, 
pleasant    to    him    in 
early     morning     for 
the  air  and  the  view. 
Over  the  straggling 
outskirts    of  Athens 
he   looked  upon  the 
t  plain,  or  broad  valley, 
'  where  Cephisus,  with 
scant    and     precious 
flow,  draws  seaward 
through    grey-green 
olive  gardens,  down 
from     Acharnae     of 
past    the    bare    hillock 
called    Colonus,   to   the 


55 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

blue  Phaleric  bay.  His  eye  loved 
to  follow  a  far-winding  track,  mile 
after  mile,  away  to  the  slope  of 
Aigaleos,  where  the  white  road 
vanished  in  a  ravine  ;  for  this  was 
the  Sacred  Way,  pursued  of  old  by 
the  procession  of  the  Mysteries 
from  Athens  to  Eleusis. 

Here,  on  a  morning  when  earth 
and  sky  were  mated  in  unutterable 
calm  and  loveliness,  he  stood 
dreaming  with  unquiet  heart. 
"  They  lived  their  Hfe,  enjoyed  to 
the  uttermost  the  golden  day  that 
was  granted  them.  And  I,  whose 
day  is  passing,  can  only  try  to  for- 
get myself  in  the  tale  of  their 
vanished  glory.  Is  it  too  late  ? 
Are  the  hopes  and  energies  of  life 
for  ever  withdrawn  ?  " 

A  voice  called  to  him  from 
below  3  he  looked  down  into  the 
street  and  saw  Louis  waving  a 
friendly  hand. 

"  Do  you  feel  disposed  to  climb 
Lycabettus  ?  "  shouted  the  young 
man. 


5^ 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

"  Gladly  !  With  you  in  a  mo- 
ment." 

It  was  ten  days  since  their  first 
meeting,  and  in  the  meanwhile 
they  had  been  much  together ; 
occasionally  without  Worboys, 
whose  archaeologic  zeal  delighted  in 
solitude.  Langley  found  an  in- 
creasing pleasure  in  Louis'  society, 
evinced  by  the  readiness  with  which 
he  hastened  forth  to  meet  him. 
This  companionship  revived  in  him 
some  of  the  fervours  of  youth  ; 
even — strange  as  it  seemed  to  him 
— turned  his  mind  to  some  of  the 
old  ambitions.  Yet  he  tried  to 
subdue  the  symptoms  of  febrile 
temperament  which  overcame  Louis 
in  sympathetic  conversation  ;  good- 
humouredly,  almost  affectionately, 
he  struck  the  note  of  disillusioned 
age  ;  and  it  gratified  him  to  see 
how  the  young  man  put  restraint 
upon  himself  to  listen  patiently  and 
answer  with  respect.  Already,  in  a 
measure,  he  was  succeeding  where 
Worboys  had  so  signally  failed. 


57 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

At  a  vigorous  pace  they  breasted 
the  hillside,  turning  often  to  gaze 
at  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  Athens 
below  them,  and  at  the  wondrous 
panorama  spreading  around  as  they 
ascended.  On  reaching  the  quar- 
ries Louis  pointed  with  indignation 
to  the  girls  and  women  who  toiled 
at  breaking  up  stone. 

"  That's  the  kind  of  thing  that 
makes  me  detest  these  countries  !  " 

"What  about  cotton-mills  and 
match  factories  ?  "  said  Langley. 
"  It's  better  breaking  stone  on  Ly- 
cabettus." 

"  Well,  both  are  alike  damnable. 
Women  shouldn't  work  in  such 
ways  at  all." 

"  Doesn't  your  friend  Mrs.  Tre- 
silian  prefer  it  to  idle  dependence 
upon  men  ?  " 

"Perhaps  so,"  Louis  replied, 
with  the  brightness  of  countenance 
which  always  '  accompanied  a 
thought  of  Mrs.  Tresilian.  "  But 
that's  only  for  the  present,  until 
society  can  be  civilised.     Talking 


58 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

of  that  reminds  me  of  something  I 
wanted  to  ask  you.  Wouldn't  it 
be  possible  for  me  to  get — some 
day — an  inspectorship  of  factories? 
How  are  they  appointed  ?  " 

"  Good  heavens  !  This  is  your 
latest  inspiration  ? " 

"  Please  don't  be  contemptuous, 
Mr.  Langley.  I  see  no  reason 
v/hy  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  qualify 
myself.  It's  the  kind  of  thing  that 
would  suit  me  exactly." 

"  Oh,  admirably  !  Ordained 
from  eternity,  in  the  fitness  of 
things  !  Pray,  has  Mrs.  Tresilian 
suggested  it  ? " 

"  No.  But  she  certainly  would 
approve  it.  The  difficulty  is  to 
find  an  employment  in  which  I 
can  be  of  some  use  to  the  world. 
I  hate  the  idea  of  the  professions 
and  the  businesses,  with  nothing 
before  me  but  money-making. 
And  I've  tried  incessantly  to  think 
of  something  respectable  —  you 
know  what  I  mean  by  that — which 
I  could  hope  to  do  effectually.     It 


59 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

would  delight  me  to  get  an  inspec- 
torship of  factories  and  workshops. 
The  satisfaction  of  coming  down 
on  brutes  who  break  the  laws — 
every  kind  of  law — ^just  to  save 
their  pockets  !  Don't  you  feel  how 
glorious  it  would  be  to  prosecute 
such  scoundrels  ?  " 

Langley  glanced  at  the  glowing 
face  and  smiled. 

"Yes,  I  can  sympathise  with 
that.  But  I  believe  an  inspector 
has  to  be  a  man  of  long  practical 
experience." 

"I  must  make  inquiries.  I 
would  gladly  go  and  work  at  some 
mechanical  trade  to  qualify  myself." 

"  What  would  Lady  Revill  think 
of  the  suggestion  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Louis  hesitated. 
His  features  were  a  little  clouded. 

"  I  don't  think  she  would 
seriously  object — when  she  saw  my 
motives." 

"  But  you  have  told  me  that 
such  motives  make  very  little  appeal 
to  Lady  Revill." 


60 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

"  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Langley,  I 
am  as  far  from  understanding  her 
as  she  is  from  understanding  me. 
It  would  be  outrageous  ingratitude 
if  I  said,  or  thought,  that  she  has 
any  but  the  best  and  kindest  in- 
tentions. You  know,  I  daresay, 
how  much  I  owe  to  her.  But 
there  it  is  ;  there  is  no  getting  over 
the  fact  that  we  can't  see  things 
from  the  same  point  of  view.  She 
isn't  by  any  means  an  obstinate 
aristocrat  ;  she  can  talk  liberally 
about  all  sorts  of  things,  and  I 
know  she  has  the  kindest  heart. 
Well,  why  should  she  take  such 
care  of  me^  the  son  of  insignificant 
people,  except  out  of  mere  good- 
ness ?  But  she  has  such  strong 
personal  antipathies.  I've  never 
mentioned  it,  but  she  hates  the 
name  of  Mrs.  Tresilian.  Now,  of 
course  I  can't  be  ruled  by  such 
prejudices  in  her.  You  don't  think 
I  ought  to  be,  do  you  ?  " 

"  It's  a  delicate  point,"  answered 
Langley,   looking    far    off.      "As 


6i 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

you  say,  you  have  great  obliga- 
tions  " 

He  paused,  and  Louis  continued 
abruptly  : 

"Yes.  That's  why  I  am  so 
anxious  not  to  incur  more.  That's 
why  I  don't  want  to  go  to  Oxford. 
I  should  do  her  no  credit  there,  for 
one  thing ;  study  isn't  my  bent. 
I  want  to  be  doing  something.  I 
seem  to  be  acting  inconsiderately, 
but  I  feel  so  sure  that  Lady  Revill 
will  admit  before  long  that  I  did 
right.  Remember  that  I  don't 
want  to  get  up  in  public  and  rail 
against  all  the  things  she  values. 
I  couldn't  do  that.  All  I  aim  at 
is  some  work  of  quiet  usefulness  ; 
something,  too,  which  will  make 
me  independent.  When  I  was  a 
boy  it  didn't  matter  so  much — I 
mean  my  obstinate  self-will.  Often 
enough  I  behaved  very  badly  ;  I 
know  it,  and  I'm  ashamed  of  it ; 
but  then  I  was  only  a  boy.  Now 
it's  very  different  ^  and  in  the 
future " 


62 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

Louis  broke  off,  as  if  checked 
by  a  thought  he  found  it  difficult 
to  utter. 

"  I  haven't  asked  you,"  he  added, 
when  his  companion  kept  walking 
silently  on,  "  whether  you  know 
Lord  Henry  Strands." 

"  I  knew  nothing  but  his  name, 
until  Mr.  Worboys  spoke  of  him." 

"  Did  he  say ?  " 

Langley  encouraged  him  with 
interrogative    look. 

"  I've  never  spoken  about  it  to 
Mr.  Worboys,  and   I   don't  know 

whether .    But  it's  so  important 

to  me  that,  if  I  am  to  talk  of  myself 
at  all,  I  can't  help  mentioning  it. 
And  in  Lady  Revill's  circle  I  don't 
see  how  it  can  help  being  talked 
about.  I  believe  that  she  will  marry 
Lord  Henry." 

Langley  stopped,  but  immediately 
turned  his  eyes  upon  the  landscape, 
and  spoke  as  if  it  alone  had  arrested 
him. 

"  You  see  the  dark  mountain  top 
^ar   away   there — to   the    right    of 


63 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 


Salamis.     That's  Akrokorinthos. — 
Ah,    you    were   saying   that    Lady 
Revill  may  marry  again.     And  in 
that  case,  you  think  your  position  | 
might  be  still  more  difficult  ?  "  | 

"  If  she    married    Lord    Henry  I 
Strands.     He   and  I  can't   get   on  It 
together.     Now  he  is  an  obstinate  I 
aristocrat,  and  the  kind  of  man —  j*- 
well,  I'd  better  not  say  how  I  feel  I 
towards  him.    It  astonishes  me  that  I 
Lady  Revill  can  endure  such  a  man. 
People  with    titles   are   often  very 
pleasant  to  get  on  with  ,  but  he — . 
I  wish  you  knew  him,  Mr.  Langley. 
I  should  so  like  to  hear  what  you  i 
thought  of  him." 

"You  have  no  reason" — Lang- 
ley  spoke  slowly — "for  thinking 
that  this  marriage  will  take  place, 
except  your  own  surmise  ?  " 

"Well — he  comes  so  often.  And 
his  sister  is  so  intimate  with  Lady 
Revill.  I'm  sure  it's  taken  for 
granted  by  lots  of  people." 

«  I  see." 

Something  in  the   tone   of  this 


64 


I 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

brevity  caused  Louis  to  look  at  the 
speaker  with  uneasiness. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  think  I  oughtn' 
to  have  mentioned  it. — But  really, 
it's  very   much   like  talking  about 
royal    marriages.       One    somehovir 
doesn't  feel " 

"  I  meant  no  reproof,"  said  Lang- 
ley.  "  Stop  ;  here's  a  good  place 
to  rest.  I  see  there  are  a  lot  of 
people  up  at  the  Chapel. — It's  a 
month  since  I  was  here." 

His  eyes  wandered  over  the  vast 
scene,  where  natural  beauty  and  his- 
toric interest  vied  for  the  beholder's 
enthusiasm.  Plain  and  mountain  ; 
city  and  solitude ;  harbour  and 
wild  shore ;  craggy  islands  and 
the  far  expanse  of  sea  :  a  miracle  of 
lights  and  hues,  changing  ever  as 
cloudlets  floated  athwart  the  sun. 
From  Parnes  to  the  Argolic  hills, 
what  flight  of  gaze  and  of  memory  ! 
The  companions  stood  mute,  but 
it  was  the  younger  man  who  be- 
trayed a  lively  pleasure. 

"What's  the  use,"  he  exclaimed  at 


65 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

length,  "of  reading  history  in  books ! 
Standing  here  I  learn  more  in  five 
minutes  than  through  all  the  grind  of 
my  school-time,  ^gina — Salamis 
— Munychia — nothing  but  names 
and  boredom ,  now  I  shall  delight 
to  remember  them  as  long  as  I  live  ! 
Look  at  the  white  breakers  on  the 
shore  of  Salamis. — It's  all  so  real  to 
me  now ;  and  yet  I  never  saw  any- 
thing like  these  Greek  landscapes 
for  suggesting  unreality.  I  felt 
something  of  that  in  Italy,  but  this 
is  more  wonderful.  It  struck  me 
at  the  first  sight  of  Greece,  as  we 
sailed  in  early  morning  along  the 
Peloponnesus.  It's  the  landscape 
you  pick  out  of  the  clouds,  at 
home  in  England.  Again  and 
again  I  have  had  to  remind  my- 
self that  these  are  real  mountains 
and  coasts." 

Langley  roused  himself  from  op- 
pressive abstraction,  and  put  into 
better  words  this  common  sense  of 
mirage  due  to  the  air  and  light  of 
Greece.      He    spoke     deliberately, 


66 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

and  as  if  his  thoughts  were  still  half 
occupied  with  things  remote.  The 
frown  imprinted  on  his  features 
conveyed  an  impression  of  gloom  ; 
which  was  rarely  its  effect. 

"  How  do  you  like  the  smoking 
mill-chimneys  at  Piraeus  ? "  he 
asked   suddenly. 

"Oh,  of  course  that's  abomin- 
ation." 

"  Ah,  I  thought  you  would  per- 
haps defend  iu  The  Greeklings 
of  to-day  would  be  only  too  glad  if 
their  whole  country  blackened  with 
such  fumes." 

"  Well,  they  have  their  lives  to 
live.  They  can't  feed  on  the 
past." 

Louis  apologised  with  a  smile 
for  his  matter-of-fact  remark  ;  but 
Langley  surprised  him  by  saying 
abruptly  : 

"  You're  quite  right.  They  have 
their  lives  to  live  ;  and  if  they  want 
mill-chimneys,  let  them  be  built 
from  Olympus  to  Taenarum." 

Wherewith  he  turned  away,  and 


67 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

moved  a  few  paces  with  restless 
step.  Louis  followed  slowly,  his 
eyes  cast  down,  and  did  not  speak 
until  the  other  gave  him  a  glance 
of  singular  moodiness. 

"Fm  afraid  I  often  disgust  you, 
Mr.  Langley." 

"  Nay,  my  dear  fellow  ;  that  you 
have  never  done,"  was  the  kindly- 
toned  answer.  "I  meant  what  I 
said.  You  are  right — a  thousand 
times  right — in  pleading  for  to-day. 
It's  good  to  be  able  to  appreciate 
such  a  view  as  this ;  but  it's  infi- 
nitely better  to  make  the  most  of 
one's  own  little  life.  I  get  a  black 
fit  now  and  then  when  I  remember 
how  much  of  mine  has  been  wasted 
—that's  all." 

Concession  such  as  this  from  a 
man  he  had  quickly  learned  to  like 
and  respect  stirred  all  the  modesty 
in  Louis. 

"My  trouble  is,"  he  said,  "that 
I  haven't  knowledge  enough  to 
make  me  feel  secure,  when  I  take 
my  own  way.    I  may  be  blundering 


68 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

as  all  very  young   men  are  apt  to 
do." 

^'  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  that's  the 
main  thing.  Above  all,  don't  act 
in  disregard  of  Lady  Revill." 

"  That's  what  I  wish  never  to 
do,"  Louis  answered  fervently. 
"  And  I  should  like  to  tell  you  that 
Mrs.  Tresilian  has  always  spoken 
in  the  same  way.  Lady  Revill 
dislikes  her — can't  bear  the  mention 
of  her  name.  She  thinks  I  have 
got  a  great  deal  of  harm  from  Mrs. 
Tresilian.  Not  long  before  I  left 
England,  she  told  me  as  much,  in 
plain  words,  and  it  made  me  so 
angry  that  I  said  things  I'm  sorry 
for  now. — I  am  hasty-tempered  ;  I 
flare  up,  and  call  people  names,  and 
that  kind  of  thing.  It's  a  bad  fault, 
I  know  ;  but  surely  it's  a  fault  also 
to  hate  people  out  of  mere  pre- 
judice." 

"You  can  hardly  call  it  mere 
prejudice,  in  this  case,"  objected 
Langley,  walking  with  head  bent 
again. 


09 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

"But  I  do!  Lady  Revill  has 
never  taken  the  trouble  to  inquire 
what  sort  of  woman  Mrs.  Tresilian 
is,  and  what  she  really  aims  at. 
When  I  told  her — too  violently, 
I  admit — that  Mrs.  Tresilian  had 
begged  me  always  to  think  first  of 
what  I  owed  to  my  guardian,  she 
simply  didn't  beheve  it.  Of  course 
she  didn't  say  so,  but  I  saw  she 
wouldn't  believe  it,  and  that  enraged 
me. — There  is  no  better,  nobler 
woman  living  than  Mrs.  Tresilian  ! 
Every  day  of  her  life  she  does 
beautiful,  admirable  things.  Her 
friendship  would  honour  any  man 
or  woman  under  the  sun  !  " 

The  Hstener  restrained  a  smile. 

"  I  can  quite  believe  you.  But 
I  am  equally  convinced  that  Lady 
Revill  is,  in  her  own  way,  as  good 
and  conscientious.  They  would 
never  like  each  other " 

"  The  fault  would  be  entirely  on 
Lady  Revill's  side,"  broke  in  Louis, 
now  glowing  with  the  ardour  of 
his      scarcely      disguised      passion. 


70 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

"  Mrs.    Trcsilian    is    incapable    of 
prejudice  ;  but  Lady  Revill " 

"  You  must  remember,"  inter- 
posed Langley,  "  that  I  once  knew 
her.  I  don't  suppose  she  has  altered 
very  much,  in  essentials." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Lang- 
ley.    I  am  forgetting  myself  again." 

"  No,  no  ;  speak  as  you  think. 
It's  a  long  time  ago  j  Lady  Revill 
may  have  altered  very  much.  You 
think  her  hopelessly  prejudiced  in 
matters  such  as  this." 

"  I  only  mean,  after  all,"  said  the 
young  man,  "that  she  belongs  to 
her  class." 

"There's  a  good  deal  of  enlighten- 
ment among  the  aristocracy  nov^a- 
days,"  rejoined  Langley,  v^ith  a 
smile. 

"No  doubt.  I  have  seen  signs 
of  it  here  and  there.  But  Lady 
Revill " 

"Is  altogether  old-fashioned, you 
were  going  to  say." 

"  Not  those  words  ;  but  it's  true  ; 
she    prides    herself  on    being    old- 


7i 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

fashioned.  And  really,  I  should 
like  to  know  why.  It  isn't  as  if  she 
were  a  silly  or  ill-educated  woman." 

Langley  laughed. 

"  After  all,"  he  said,  with  humor- 
ous gravity,  "  the  old  ways  of 
thinking  didn't  invariably  come  of 
folly  or  ignorance.  Never  mind ; 
I  know  what  you  mean,  and  I 
can  sympathise  with  you.  I  think 
it  very  Hkely,  too,  that  the  habits  or 
her  life  have  prevented  her  blind 
from  developing,  as  it  once  promised 
to.  'For  many  years  Lady  Revill 
has  taken  a  great  part  in — we  won't 
say  social  life,  but  in  the  life  of 
society." 

"And  the  surprising  thing,"  ex- 
claimed Louis,  "is  that  she  doesn't 
care  for  it." 

"Why  do  you  think  she  doesn't !  " 
his  companion  asked,  with  a  look 
of  keen  interest. 

"From  observin-g  her  at  various 
times.  Society  far  more  often  bores 
her  than  not.  I  have  seen  her 
tired    and     disgusted     after    being 


72 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

among  people,  and  she  has  often 
spoken  to  me  contemptuously  of 
society  life  on  the  whole.  That's 
the  contradiction  in  her  character." 

"  No  contradiction,  necessarily, 
of  her  old-fashioned  views." 

"  I  mean,"  Louis  explained,  "  that 
despise  it  as  she  may,  she  allows 
herself  to  be  society's  slave.  She 
would  perish  rather  than  commit 
some  trifling  breach  of  etiquette. 
Anothbr  inconsistency  :  she  is  pro- 
foundly religious." 

"  Life  is  made  up  of  such  incon- 
gruities," said  Langley. 

"  Evidently ;  and  they  astound 
me.  I  believe  that  if  Lady  Revill 
acted  on  her  convictions,  she  would 
have  to  give  all  she  possesses  to  the 
poor,  and  join  a  sisterhood,  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind.  And  I  really 
think  she  is  often  much  troubled 
by  her  conscience.  All  the  more 
astonishing  to  me  that  she  feels 
such  a  hatred  of  the  people  who  try 
to  carry  religion  into  practice — 
such  as  Mrs.  Tresilian." 


73 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

The  boy  talked  on,  and  Langley 
kept  a  long  silence. 

"  On  the  whole,  then,"  he  said  at 
length,  absently,  "  you  don't  think 
Lady  Revill  has  found  much  satis- 
faction in  life." 

"  Indeed  I  don't  !  "  Louis  replied 
with  emphasis.  "And,  what's 
more,  I  am  convinced  that  if  she 
marries  Lord  Henry  Strands  she 
will  have  less  happiness  than  ever." 

Langley  walked  on  a  little,  then, 
as  if  shaking  off  reverie,  spoke  with 
sudden  change  of  tone. 

"  I  forgot  to  ask  you  what  Mr. 
Worboys  is  doing  this  morning." 

"  Oh,  he  is  busy  writing-up  his 
notes.  It's  a  tremendous  business 
always." 

"Well,  I  envy  him.  He  has  a 
purpose  in  life.  You  and  I,  Louis, 
have  still  our  vocations  to  discover." 

It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had 
used  this  familiar  address.  The 
young  man  reddened  a  little,  and 
looked  pleased. 

"  You,  Mr.  Langley  !  " 


74 


SLEEPING    FIRESo 

"You  think  me  too  old  to  have 
anything  before  me  ? — Do  I  strike 
you  as  a  decrepit  senior  ?  " 

"Of  course  not,"  answered  the 
other,  laughing.  "  I  meant  that  I 
thought  your  vocation  was  scholar- 
ship." 

"Nothing  of  the  kind.  I  am 
no  more  a  scholar  than  you  are. 
To  be  sure,  I  like  the  old  Greeks. 
The  mischief  is  that  I  haven't  paid 
enough  heed  to  them." 

Louis  gave  an  inquiring  glance. 

"What  do  you  suppose  it  amounts 
to,"  asked  Langley,  "  all  we  know 
of  Greek  life  ?  What's  the  use  of 
it  to  us  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I  have  never  been 
able  to  learn.  It  seems  to  me  to  have 
no  bearing  whatever  on  our  life  to- 
day. That's  why  I  hate  the  thought  of 
giving  years  more  to  such  work " 

"  You'll  see  it  in  a  different  light 
some  day,"  said  Langley.  "  The 
world  never  had  such  need  of  the 
Greeks  as  in  our  time.  Vigour, 
sanity,  and  joy — that's  their  gospel," 


75 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

"  And  of  what  earthly  use,"  cried 
the  other,  "  to  all  but  a  fraction  of 
mankind  ?  " 

"Why,  as  the  ideal,  my  dear 
fellow.  And  lots  of  us,  who  might 
make  it  a  reality,  mourn  through 
life.     I  am  thinking  of  myself." 

Louis  walked  on  with  meditative, 
unsatisfied  smile. 


76 


V. 


DAY  or  two  after  this 
Langley  had  a  morning 
appointment  with  Wor- 
boys  at  the  Central 
Museum,  where  the 
archaeologist  wished  to 
invite  his  friend's  "  very 
serious  attention "  to 
certain  minutiae  of  the 
small  copy  of  the  Athena 
Parthenos.  Nearly  half 
an  hour  after  the  time 
mentioned  Worboys  had 
not  arrived,  yet  he  prided  himself 
on  habitual  punctuality.  Impatient, 
and  beset  with  thoughts  which  ill 
prepared  him  to  discuss  the  work  of 
Pheidias,    Langley    loitered    among 


77 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

the  sepulchral  marbles.  These 
relics  of  the  golden  age  of  Hellas 
had  always  possessed  a  fascination 
for  him ;  he  had  spent  hours  among 
them,  dwelling  with  luxury  of 
emotion  on  this  or  that  favourite 
group,  on  a  touching  face  or  exqui- 
site figure  ;  ever  feeling  as  he 
departed  that  on  these  simple 
tablets  was  graven  the  noblest 
thought  of  man  confronting  death. 
No  horror,  no  gloom,  no  unavail- 
ing lamentation  ;  a  tenderness  of 
memory  clinging  to  the  homely 
life  of  those  who  live  no  more ;  a 
clasp  of  hands,  the  humane  symbc- 
lism  of  drooping  eyes  or  face 
averted  ;  all  touched  with  that 
supreme  yet  simplest  pathos  of 
mortality  resigned  to  fate.  But  he 
could  not  see  it  as  he  was  wont, 
and  he  knew  not  whether  this 
inability  argued  an  ignoble  turmoil 
of  being,  or  yet  another  step  in 
that  reasonable  unrest  of  manhood 
which  had  come  upon  him  like  an 
awakening  after  sluggish  sleep. 


78 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

A  rapid  step  approached  him.  It 
was  Worboys  at  last,  and  wearing  a 
look  of  singular  perturbation. 

"  A  thousand  apologies,  my  dear 
Langley,  for  this  seeming  neglect. 
I  couldn't  get  here  before.  Some- 
thing very  troublesome  has  hap- 
pened. I  must  beg  your  advice — 
your  help." 

They  walked  apart,  for  other 
visitors  had  just  come  within  ear- 
shot. 

"By  this  morning's  post,"  pur- 
sued Worboys,  "  Louis  has  had  a 
letter — I  don't  know  from  whom, 
though  I  suspect — which  has  upset 
him  terribly.  He  came  to  me  at 
once,  after  reading  it,  and  declared 
that  he  must  return  to  England 
immediately.  In  vain  I  begged  for 
an  explanation  ;  he  would  tell  me 
nothing  except  that  go  he  must, 
and  go  he  would.  Straightway  he 
began  making  inquiries  about 
steamboats.  I  am  bound  to  say 
that  he  treats  me  in  very  incon- 
siderate fashion.    Of  course  I  could 


79 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

not  dream  of  letting  him  go  back 
alone  ;  my  responsibility  to  Lady 
Revill  is  of  the  gravest.  In  this 
state  of  mind  he  is  as  likely  as  not 
to  fall  ill :  in  fact,  when  he  came  to 
me  an  hour  ago,  I  thought  he  was 
in  a  high  fever.  Now,  what  am  I 
to  do,  Langley  ?  Happily  he  can't 
get  off  to-day,  but " 

"  Who  do  you  suspect  the  letter 
was  from  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Tresilian,  that  source  of 
all  our  woes.  I'm  sure  the  occa- 
sion is  unspeakably  preposterous. 
The  idea  of  this  lad  believing  him- 
self in  love  with  a  woman  of  that 
age  and  position  !  And  what's  the 
good  of  his  going  ?  Really,  one  is 
tempted  to  imagine  very  strange 
things.  I  shouldn't  like  to  calum- 
niate Mrs.  Tresilian " 

"The  letter  may  not  be  from 
her  at  all.  Just  as  likely,  I  should 
say,  that  it  is  from  Lady  Revill. 
Well,  I  don't  see  how  you  are  to 
detain  him  if  he's  determined  to 
go.' 


80 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

"Lady  Revill  will  be  exceed- 
ingly displeased,"  said  WorboySj  at 
the  height  of  nervous  exasperation. 
"In  her  very  last  letter  she  said 
that  we  were  not,  in  any  case,  to 
return  before  midsummer,  though 
discretion  was  accorded  me  as  to 
how  and  where  we  should  spend 
the  time.  I  should  be  ashamed  to 
face  her.  It's  monstrous  that  a 
man  in  my  position  should  find 
himself  powerless  over  a  boy  of 
eighteen !  And  to  leave  Greece 
just  when  I  am " 

"  It's  confoundedly  annoying," 
the  other  interrupted,  absently. 

"  Will  you  see  him  ?  Will  you 
try  what  you  can  do  ?  " 

"  If  you  don't  think  he'll  bid  me 
mind  my  own  business." 

"  Nothing  of  that  sort  to  fear. 
He  always  behaves  like  a  gentle- 
man— in  words,  at  all  events.  But 
for  that  I'm  afraid  I  should  never 
have  got  on  with  him  at  all.  He's 
a  thoroughly  good  fellow,  you 
know ;    it's    only    his    outrageous 


8i 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 


excitability,  and  this  unaccountable 

affair    with .      Well,    well,   as 

you  say,  I  may  be  mistaken.  But 
I  don't  like  the  way  he  looks 
when  I  plead  Lady  Revill's  direc- 


tions." 


"  Does  he  defy  them  ?  " 

"  Simply  declares  that  he  has  no 
power  to  obey  her,  but  he  looks 
savagely.  Will  you  come  to  the 
hotel  ? " 

Langley  consulted  his  watch. 

"  No.  I'll  send  a  note  as  quickly 
as  possible  asking  him  to  come  and 
see  me  early  in  the  afternoon. 
Better  to  let  him  calm  down  a 
little.  You  say  no  steamer  leaves 
the  Piraeus  to-day  ?  " 

"  None.  And  he's  too  late  for 
the  train  that  would  take  him  to 
Patras.  He  won't  sneak  off;  that 
isn't  his  way.  It'll  all  be  done 
openly  and  vehemently,  depend 
upon  it." 

They  parted,  and  Langley  soon 
dispatched  his  note  of  invitation. 
At  three  o'clock,  as  he  sat  in  the 


S2 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

book-cumbered  room,  smoking  his 
longest     pipe — for    he    wished    to 
receive     the     visitor     with     every 
appearance  of  philosophic  repose — 
Louis  joined   him.       So  troublous 
was    the    expression   of    the    pale, 
handsome  face  ;  so  pathetic  its  pre- 
sentment of  the    eternal  tragedy — 
youth,  ignorant  alike  of  itself  and 
of  the   world,    in  passionate  revolt 
against  it   knows    not    what;    that 
the  older  man  could  not  begin  con- 
versation as  he  had  purposed,  with 
tranquil      pleasantry.        He      rose, 
offered  his  hand,  pressed  the  other's 
warmly,    and     said,     in     a     grave 
voice : 

"  Fm  very  sorry  to  hear  that  you 
are  going  away." 

"  I  must.  I,  too,  am  sorry,  Mr. 
Langley.  But  I  must  go  to  Patras 
to-morrow,  and  leave  by  the  steamer 
which  sails  for  Brindisi  at  mid- 
night." 

The  voice  quivered  in  its  effort 
to  express  unchangeable  purpose 
without  undignified  vehemence. 


83 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

"  That's  most  unfortunate.  If 
we  had  been  longer  acquainted  I 
should  have  felt  tempted  to  ask 
whether  a  deputy  could  save  you 
this  trouble,  for  I  myself  am  leaving 
for  England  very  soon." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Langley ;  it 
is  impossible.     I  must  go." 

"  Let  us  sit  down.  It's  no  use 
pretending  that  I  don't  see  how 
upset  you  are.  You  have  had  bad 
news,  and  your  journey  will  be  no 
pleasant  one.  At  your  age,  Louis, 
it's  no  joke  to  be  travelling  for  a 
week  with  misery  for  one's  com- 
panion." 

The  young  man  was  sitting  bent 
forward,  his  hands  locked  together 
between  his  knees. 

"Nor  at  any  age,  I  should 
think,"  he  answered,  trying  to 
smile. 

"  Oh,  well,  one  takes  things 
more  resignedly  later  on.  I  sup- 
pose Mr.  Worboys  will  go  with 
you  ?  " 

He   says    he   feels   obliged    to. 

84 


(( 


I 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

It's  too  bad,  I  know.  I  seem  to  be 
acting  selfishly.  But" — his  voice 
faltered  on  a  boyish  note — "I 
simply  can't  help  it.  Something 
has  happened — I  can't  go  on  living 
here — at  any  cost  I  must  get  back 

to  London " 

Gradually,  patiently,  with  infi- 
nite tact,  always  assuming  that 
the  journey  was  a  settled  thing, 
Langley  brought  him  to  disclose 
the  disastrous  necessity.  That 
morning,  said  Louis,  he  had  heard 
from  Mrs.  Tresilian  ;  a  short 
letter,  which  it  drove  him  frantic 
to  read.  Mrs.  Tresilian  wrote  a 
good-bye.  She  informed  him  that 
a  gentleman — name  unmentioned — 
had  called  upon  her  with  a  strange 
request — that  she  would  hold  no 
more  communication  with  Louis 
Reed.  This  person  represented  to 
her  that,  however  innocently,  she 
had  made  serious  mischief  between 
Louis  and  the  lady  to  whom  he 
owed  everything,  upon  whom  his 
future  depended.     The  explanation 


b 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

that  followed  allowed  her  no  choice ; 
she  must  say  farewell  to  her  dear 
young  friend,  though  hoping  that 
the  severance  would  not  be  final. 
It  was  her  simple  duty,  out  of 
regard  for  him,  to  do  so.  So  she 
begged  that  he  would  not  write 
again,  and  that,  on  his  return  to 
England,  he  would  not  see  her. 

"  And  I  know  who  has  done 
this  !  "  the  young  man  exclaimed 
passionately.  "Lady  Revill  would 
never  have  done  it  herself.  I  can't 
believe  that  she  knows  of  it — I 
can't  !  I  have  told  her  frankly  that 
I  corresponded  with  Mrs.  Tresilian, 
and  she  said  only  that  she  regretted 
the  acquaintance.  No  ;  it's  that 
man  I  have  spoken  of  to  you :  Lord 
Henry  Strands." 

"That  sounds  a  trifle  improb- 
able." 

"  I  dare  say,  but  I  know  it  !  He 
has  done  this,  thinking  it  would 
please  Lady  Revill.  Of  course  she 
tells  him  everything  about  me. 
Well,  it  only  drives  me  into  what 


86 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

must  have  come  before  long.  I 
must  ask  Lady  Revill  to  give  me 
my  independence.  I  shall  go  out 
into  the  world  and  work  for  my  own 
living.  I'm  going  back  to  tell  her 
this." 

"And  to  tell  Mrs.  Tresilian 
also,"  remarked  Langley,  with  his 
kindest  smile. 

Louis  averted  his  face. 

"  I  have  told  you  how  I  regard 
her,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  forced 
firmness.     "  Her  friendship  is  more 

valuable    to    me    than Why 

should  I  be  called  upon  to  give  it 
up  ?  The  thought  of  her  is  the 
best  motive  in  my  life.  Without 
that,  I  don't  know  what  may  be- 
come of  me.  I  should  very  likely 
go  headlong " 

Langley  checked  the  hurrying 
sentences. 

"Don't  strike  that  note,  my 
dear  boy.  I  know  what  you  mean 
by  it,  but  it  isn't  in  harmony  with 
the  rest  of  you  ;  it  isn't  manly." 

Louis  accepted  the  rebuke  ;    he 


87 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

coloured,  and  said  nothing.  There- 
upon his  friend  began  to  talk  in  an 
impressive  strain ;  with  gravity, 
with  kindliness  that  almost  had  the 
warmth  of  affection,  with  wisdom 
which  would  not  be  denied  a  hear- 
ing. He  pointed  out  that  no  harm 
whatever  had  been  done  by  the 
officious  stranger.  Mrs.  Tresilian's 
friendship  had  merely  proved  itself 
anew,  and  in  a  way  that  did  her 
credit.  Now,  which  of  two  pos- 
sible courses  was  the  more  likely 
to  commend  itself  to  her  respect  :  a 
wild  rush  from  abroad,  with  youth- 
ful heroics  to  follow,  or  a  calm, 
manly  acceptance  of  her  own  view 
of  the  situation,  with  assurance  that 
their  mutual  regard  could  not  suffer 
by  a  temporary  silence  ? 

''  If  you  find  anything  reasonable 
in  all  this,  let  me  go  on  to  make  a 
proposal.  For  purposes  of  my  own 
I  must  go  to  England,  and  I  may 
as  well  start  to-morrow  as  a  week 
hence.  I  shall  see  Lady  Revill  as 
soon   as    I    arrive.       I    mean " — he 


88 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

lowered  his  voice,  and  spoke  with 
peculiar  deliberation — "  I  have  a 
reason  of  my  own  for  wishing  to 
see  her.  It  is  sixteen  years  since 
we  met,  but  our  acquaintance  was 
intimate,  and  there's  no  possibility 
of  her  receiving  me  as  a  stranger. 
Now,  will  you  allow  me  to  speak 
for  you  to  Lady  Revill  ?  No  word 
shall  pass  my  lips  which  you  would 
disown.  Will  you  stay  in  Greece, 
or,  at  all  events,  on  the  Continent, 
until  you  have  heard  from  me,  and 
from  her  ?  " 

He  paused,  knowing  the  first 
reply  that  trembled  on  his  hearer's 
lips.  Impossible  !  Louis  declared 
that  it  would  be  misery  beyond 
endurance.  His  relations  with 
Lady  Revill  had  grown  intolerable. 
He  could  not  permit  even  the 
kindest  friend  to  act  for  him  in 
such  circumstances. 

Langley  watched  the  flush  that 
deepened  on  the  face  wrung  with 
impetuous  emotions.  His  sympathy 
grew  painful ;  he  was  on  the  point 


8q 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

of  saying,  "  Well,  then,  we  will 
travel  together."  Biat  other 
thoughts  prevailed  with  him ;  he 
struggled  to  support  the  aspect  of 
equanimity,  and  talked  on  with  a 
resolve  to  impose  his  reasonable 
will,  if  by  any  effort  it  might  be 
done.  Louis  was  reminded  that 
the  post  would  still  convey  his 
letters  whithersoever  he  pleased. 

"I  dare  say  you  have  already 
replied  to  Mrs.  Tresilian  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"And  told  her  that  you  were 
coming  straightway  ?  Now,  if  I 
were  Mrs.  Tresilian  (don't  laugh 
scornfully),  nothing  would  please 
me  better,  after  receiving  that 
piping-hot  epistle,  than  to  get 
another  couched  in  far  more 
thoughtful  language.  You  don't 
forget  that  this  admirable  lady  will 
suffer  a  good  deal  if  she  is  com- 
pelled to  believe  that  her  friendship 
has  really  been  a  cause  of  injury  to 
you  ?  " 

That   stroke   told.     The  young 


90 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

man  fixed  his  eyes  on  a  distant 
point  and  became  silent.  Langley 
talked  on,  calmly,  irresistibly. 
Little  by  little  he  permitted  himself 
a  half  authoritative  tone,  which  the 
listener  seemed  very  far  from  re- 
senting. Langley  had  learnt  from 
his  sympathetic  imagination  that 
the  repose  of  acquiescence  w^ould 
seem  sw^eet  to  one  in  Louis's  state 
of  mind,  if  only  perfect  confidence 
were  instilled  together  with  it.  He 
spoke  long  and  familiarly,  revealing 
much  of  himself,  at  the  same  time 
that  he  displayed  his  complete 
understanding  of  the  trouble  he 
strove  to  soothe.  And  in  the  end 
Louis  yielded. 

"  In  that  case,"  he  said,  his 
voice  hoarse  with  nervous  exhaus- 
tion, "  I  can't  stay  at  Athens.  I 
must  be  moving.  I  should  perish 
here." 

"We'll  settle  that  with  Mr. 
Worboys.  You  had  better  go  and 
*sail  among  the  Isles  Aegean.' 
Do  you  know  Landor's  '  Pericles '  ? 


91 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

Oh,  you  must  read  it.  Here,  I'll 
lend  it  you.  Return  it  when  we 
meet  in  England." 

Louis  took  the  volume  mechani- 
cally. 

"  I  know  it  will  all  be  useless. 
You  will  write  and  tell  me  what  I 
already  know.  If  you  imagine  that 
Lady  Revill  can  be  persuaded  by 
reasoning " 

"  I  don't,"  interrupted  the  other, 
with  a  peculiar  smile. 

"  I  feel  convinced,  Mr.  Langley, 
that  you  will  find  her  very  different 
from  the  lady  you  knew  so  many 
years  ago.  Even  since  I  was  old 
enough  to  observe  such  things,  I 
have  noticed  a  change  in  her  ;  she 
is  colder,  harder " 

Langley  still  smiled. 

"  Yet,  you  say,  not  happy  in  her 
coldness  and  hardness.  Bear  in 
mind  that  I  am  something  of  an 
old-fashioned  Tory  myself;  perhaps 
we  shall  find  points  of  sympathy  to 
start  from." 

"  You  are  the  most  advanced  of 


92 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

Radicals  compared  with  Lady  Re- 
vill." 
^  Langley  mused. 
™  "By  the  by,"  he  said,  as  his 
companion  rose,  "  there  seems  to 
have  been  an  understanding  that 
you  were  not  to  return,  in  any  case, 
till  after  midsummer." 

"  Yes.    And  the  reason  is  plain." 

"Indeed?" 

"It  means,  of  course,  that  on 
my  return  I  shall  find  her  married." 

"  It  is  the  merest  conjecture  on 
your  part,"  said  Langley,  knitting 
his  brows.  "As  likely  as  not  you  are 
altogether  mistaken  in  that  matter." 

Louis  smiled  with  youthful  con- 
fidence. 

"  We  shall  see." 

His  friend  moved  across  the 
room,  and  turned  again,  restlessly. 

"  You  admit  that  you  have  abso- 
lutely no  authority  but  your  own 
surmises  ? " 

"True.  But  it's  sure  as  fate — 
and  very  wretched  fate.  I  don't 
speak  selfishly  ;  pray  don't  imagine 


L 


93 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

anything  of  that  kind ;  Vm  not 
capable  of  it.  Whatever  I  say  of 
Lady  Revill,  I " — he  hesitated — "  I 
have  a  son's  love  for  her.  And 
that's  w^hy  I  loathe  the  thought  of 
her  marrying  such  a  man.  But  for 
him,  with  his  hateful  pride,  things 
would  never  have  come  to  this  pass 
between  us.  He  has  made  her  dis- 
Hke  me,  and  I  regard  him  as  my 
worst  enemy.  She  puts  me  out  of 
her  way — she  is  sorry  she  ever  had 
anything  to  do  with  me — and  yet  I 
have  no  one  else ^" 

The  emotion  which  broke  his 
voice,  as  far  as  possible  from  un- 
manly complaint,  touched  the  lis- 
tener profoundly. 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  Louis.  I 
pledge  you  my  word  that  this  shall 
be  settled  in  some  way  satisfactory 
to  you.  Be  of  good  heart,  old 
fellow,  and  trust  me." 

"  You  will  do  all  that  any  one 
can,  Mr.  Langley." 

"  Perhaps  more  than  any  one  else 
could.     We  shall  see." 


^ 


VL 

N  the  morning  Langley 
had  a  talk  with  Wor- 
boys.  The  tutor,  far 
from  exhibiting  jeal- 
ousy of  his  friend's 
superior  influence,  was 
delighted  at  the  un- 
hoped -  for  turn  oi 
things. 

"  It  would  have  cut 
me  to  the  heart,"  he 
declared,  "  to  go  away 
without  having  visited 
either  Delphi  or  Olym- 
pia.  We  shall  be  able 
to  take  them  on  the 
homeward  route.  I  agree  with 
you  that  it  will  be  well  to  spend  a 
week  or  so  in  travel  among  the 
islands.      We    will    go    to    Suros 


b 


95 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

(Syra,  they  call  it),  ^^hence,  I 
understand,  we  can  get  to  Delos. 
Thence  to  Euboea,  to  Thermo- 
pylae, and  perhaps  as  far  north  as 
the  Pagasaean  Gulf  (Gulf  of  Volo, 
they  barbarously  name  it),  which 
would  allow  us  a  gHmpse  of  Pe- 
lion." 

The  greater  part  of  the  night 
Langley  spent  in  packing  and 
letter-writing.  His  heavy  luggage 
would  follow  him  to  England. 
When  he  looked  around  him  on 
trunks  and  portmanteaux  ready  for 
removal,  it  wanted  but  an  hour  of 
daybreak ;  from  his  sitting-room 
window  he  saw  a  pale  pearly  rift  in 
the  sky  above  Hymettus.  Merely 
to  rest  his  limbs,  for  sleep  he  could 
not,  he  threw  himself  on  the  bed. 

"  Thanks  to  you,  friend  Louis ! 
You  have  given  me  the  push  for 
which  I  waited,  and  it  will  impel 
me — who  knows  how  far  ?  Per- 
haps at  this  time  next  year — but 
that  lies  in  the  lap  of  the  gods." 

Worboys     came     to    him    after 


96 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

breakfast,  and  announced  that  Louis 
would  be  at  the  railway  station  to 
see  him  ofF. 

"  He  looks  a  ghost  this  morn- 
ing, poor  fellow.  What  a  cala- 
mity to  have  such  nerves  !  I  can't 
remember  that  I  was  anything 
like  that  at  his  time  of  life.  My 
father  used  to  call  me  the  young 
philosopher." 

They  reached  the  station  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  before  train-time, 
and  found  Louis  pacing  the  plat- 
form. Drawing  Langley  aside,  he 
talked  with  feverish  energy,  repeat- 
ing all  his  requests  and  demands  of 
the  day  before.  When  the  traveller 
entered  the  shaky  little  carriage 
Louis  still  kept  near  to  him  ;  silent 
now,  but  with  anxious  eyes  watch- 
ing his  countenance.  As  the  train 
began  to  move  they  looked  for  a 
moment  fixedly  at  each  other.  In 
that  moment  the  two  faces  were 
strangely  alike. 

The  line  makes  a  circuit  over 
the  plain  of  Attica,  and  turns  west- 


97 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

ward  through  the  hollow  between 
Aigaleos  and  Parnes.  Thence,  in 
view  of  the  bay  so  closely  guarded 
by  lofty  Salamis  as  to  seem  an 
inland  water,  it  runs  to  Eleusis,and 
a  railway  porter  shouts  the  name 
once  so  reverently  uttered.  A  little 
beyond  rise  abruptly  those  jagged 
peaks  which  were  the  limit  of  Attic 
soil;  and  then  comes  Megara,  its 
white  houses  clustered  over  the  two 
round  hills  ;  silent,  sleepy,  ignorant 
of  its  immortal  fame.  On  by  the 
enchanted  shore,  looking  now 
across  a  broader  sea  to  softly- 
limned  JEgim  and  the  far  moun- 
tains of  Troezene ;  until  the 
isthmus  is  reached,  and  the  train 
passes  over  that  delved  link  of  west 
and  eastern  gulfs  which  the  ancient 
world  cared  not  to  complete.  "  Non 
cuivis  homini^^  murmured  Langley 
to  himself,  as  he  stretched  his  limbs 
on  the  platform  at  Corinth  ;  gazing 
now  at  the  mighty  bulk  of  Gera- 
neion,  dark,  cloud-capped ;  now  at 
the   noble   heights   of  the   ancient 


,98 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

citadel,  Akrokorinthos.  Once 
more  he  could  enjoy  these  visions, 
for  with  movement  there  had  come 
to  him  a  cheery  quietude,  a  happi- 
ness of  resolve. 

Forward  now  by  the  coast  of 
Peloponnesus,  through  mile  after 
mile  of  currant  fields  and  olive 
plantations,  riven  here  and  there  b)^ 
deep  track  of  torrents  which  at 
times  rush  from  the  Achaean  moun- 
tains. Through  a  long  afternoon 
his  gaze  turned  across  the  blue  strip 
of  sea,  beholding  as  in  a  magic 
mirror  those  forms  which  appear  to 
be  bodied  forth  by  the  imagination 
rather  than  viewed  with  common 
sight :  Helicon,  shapen  like  a  sum- 
mer cloud,  vast  yet  incorporeal,  far- 
folded,  melting  from  hue  to  hue ; 
and  more  remote  Parnassus,  glim- 
mering on  the  Hquid  heaven  with 
its  rosy  wreath. 

At  Patras  he  was  in  the  world 
again.  A  clamour  of  porters  and 
hotel-touts  ;  a  drive  through  chok- 
ing dust ;  dinner  at  a  table  where 


99 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

he  heard  all  languages  save  Greek  ; 
then  the  purchase  of  his  ticket  for 
Brindisi.  Exhausted  in  mind  and 
body,  he  shipped  himself  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  slept  for  many  hours. 
On  awaking  he  found  himself 
within  sight  of  Corfu — Corcyra,  as 
he  remembered  with  a  smile,  think- 
ing of  Worboys.  But  it  was  the 
modern  world  ;  he  could  now  give 
little  thought  to  Homer  or  to 
Thucydides.  In  his  last  gHmpse  of 
Parnassus  he  had  bidden  farewell  to 
the  old  dreams.  English  people 
were  on  board,  and  their  talk 
sounded  not  unpleasant  to  him. 

Another  night  (to  his  impatience, 
the  whole  day  was  spent  at  Corfu), 
and  he  rose  early  for  a  view  of  the 
Italian  shore.  There  it  lay,  a  long 
yellow  line,  whereon,  presently,  a 
harbour  became  visible.  Not  Brun- 
disium,  but  Brindisi.  A  great 
English  steamship  was  putting 
forth,  bound  for  India  ;  he  watched 
it  with  a  glow  of  pleasure,  even  of 
pride. 


lOO 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

A  brief  delay  at  the  port,  then 
onward  by  rail  once  more.  By 
sunny-golden  sands  of  Calabria, 
where  yet  linger  the  Hellenic 
names  ;  northward  through  rugged 
mountains,  to  Salerno  throned  above 
her  azure  bay ;  by  the  vine-clad 
slopes  of  Vesuvius,  by  the  dead  city 
of  the  menaced  shore,  into  a  regal 
sunset  burning  upon  Naples. 


I 


lOI 


r^'*^^ 


VIL 


IS  arrival  in  London  was 
at  mid- day ;  the  sky 
heavily  clouded,  and  the 
streets  lashed  with  a 
cold  rain.  Until  late 
in  the  evening  he  sat 
idly  at  his  hotel  reading 
newspapers,  but  before 
going  to  bed  he  wrote 
a  few  lines  addressed  to 
Lady  Revill.  A  formal 
note,  constructed  in  the 
third  person.  Would  Lady  Revill 
grant  an  interview  to  Mr.  Edmund 
Langley,  who  was  newly  returned 
from  Athens  ?     No  more. 

Were  the  lady  in  town  he  might 
receive   an  answer  by  the  evening 


102 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

of  next  day.  But  the  day  passed, 
and  no  letter  arrived  for  him.  A 
second  day  went  by  ;  and  only  on 
the  morning  of  the  third  was  there 
put  into  his  hand  a  small  envelope, 
which  he  knew  at  a  glance  to  be 
the  reply  he  awaited.  He  opened 
it  with  nervous  haste.  Lady  Revill 
apologised  for  her  delay  ;  she  was 
in  the  west  of  England,  and  would 
not  be  back  in  town  until  Saturday 
evening.  But  if  Mr.  Langley  could 
conveniently  call  at  eleven  on  Mon- 
day morning,  it  would  give  her 
pleasure  to  see  him. 

Friday,  to-day.  By  way  of  kill- 
ing an  hour  he  wrote  to  his  friends 
at  Athens.  It  was  long  since  time 
had  dragged  with  him  so  drearily, 
for  he  did  not  care  to  seek  any  of 
his  acquaintances,  and  could  fix  his 
attention  on  nothing  more  serious 
than  the  daily  news.  To  his  sur- 
prise, the  last  post  on  Saturday 
brought  him  a  letter  with  a  Greek 
stamp.  Auguring  ill,  he  struggled 
with  the  cacography  of  Mr.  Wor- 


103 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

boys,  which    conveyed  disagreeable 
intelligence. 

"We  were  to  have  sailed  from 
the  Piraeus  for  Syra  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  day  after  you  left  us,  but  I 
grieve  to  say  that  this  was  rendered 
impossible  by  an  attack  of  illness 
which  befell  our  young  friend.  He 
could  neither  sleep  nor  eat,  and  was 
obliged  to  confess — when  we  had 
absolutely  reached  the  harbour — 
that  he  felt  unable  to  go  on  board. 
I  felt  his  pulse,  and  found  him  in  a 
high  fever.  One  circumstance  con- 
tributing to  this  was  doubtless  a 
long  and  exhausting  walk  which  he 
took  on  the  day  of  your  departure  ; 
if  you  can  believe  it,  he  positively 
walked  for  some  nine  hours,  on  an 
empty  stomach,  returning  in  a  great 
perspiration  long  after  sunset.  This, 
in  one  of  his  constitution,  was 
sheer  madness,  as  I  forthwith  told 
him.  From  the  Piraeus  we  re- 
turned as  quickly  as  possible  to 
Athens,  and  medical  aid  was  sum- 
moned.   Our  excellent  doctor  seems 


104 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

not  to  regard  the  crisis  as  alarming, 
but  he  forbids  any  movement.  How 
often  I  have  tried  to  impress  upon 
Louis  that  these  southern  climates 
do  not  permit  of  the  excesses  in 
bodily  exertion  v^^hich  may  with 
impunity  be  indulged  in  at  home  ! 
I  have  telegraphed  to  Lady  Revill, 
as  she  desired  me  always  to  do  in 
case  of  illness.  I  shall  send  other 
dispatches  from  time  to  time,  and 
you  will  thus,  probably,  be  aware  of 
what  is  going  on  before  you  receive 
this  letter." 

"  Poor  lad  !  poor  lad  !  "  was  the 
burden  of  Langley's  thought  for  the 
rest  of  the  evening. 

On  the  morrow,  precisely  at  the 
appointed  hour,  he  made  his  call  in 
Cornwall  Gardens.  It  was  long 
since  he  had  stood  at  any  door  with 
an  uncomfortable  beating  of  the 
heart.  The  sensation  revived,  with 
hardly  less  than  their  original  inten- 
sity, those  pangs  with  which  he  had 
entered  old  Mr.  Forrest's  presence  for 
the  fetal  interview  sixteen  years  ago. 


los 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

The  door  opened,  and  solemnly, 
behind  a  solemn  footman,  he  ascended 
the  stairs,  vaguely  percipient  of  the 
marks  of  wealth  and  taste  about 
him,  breathing  a  fragrance  which 
increased  the  trouble  of  his  blood. 
In  vain  he  strove  to  command 
himself.  It  was  like  the  ascent  of 
a  scaffold ;  every  step  lengthened 
his  physical  and  mental  distress. 

A  murmur  of  the  footman's  voice; 
a  vision  of  tempered  sunlight  on 
many  rich  and  beautiful  things  ;  a 
graceful  figure  rising  before  him. 
It  was  over.  The  mist  cleared  from 
his  eyes,  and  he  was  a  man  again. 

Lady  Revill  received  him  with 
grave  formality,  almost  as  though 
they  met  for  the  first  time.  He 
had  not  expected  her  to  smile,  but 
her  absolute  self-control,  the  perfec- 
tion of  her  stately  reserve,  excited 
his  wonder.  On  him,  it  was  clear, 
lay  the  necessity  of  breaking  silence; 
but  the  phrases  he  had  prepared  were 
all  forgotten.  Their  greeting  was 
mere  exchange  of  bows ;    he  must 


io6 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

plunge  straightway  into  the  business 
which  brought  him  here. 

"  I  have  just  returned  from 
Greece."  A  motion  bade  him  be 
sealed,  and  he  took  the  nearest 
chair.  ^'  At  Athens  I  encountered 
by  chance  an  old  friend  of  mine, 
Mr.  Worboys,  and  thus  I  was  led 
into  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Louis 
Reed." 

Lady  Revill  sat  still  and  mute. 
When  the  speaker  paused,  she 
regarded  him  with  an  air  of  ex- 
pectancy which  puzzled  Langley  ; 
it  was  an  intense  look,  calm  yet 
suggesting  concealed  emotion. 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear,"  he  con- 
tinued, straying  from  a  tenor  of 
speech  which  threatened  to  be  both 
stiff  and  vague,  "that  Mr.  Reed 
fell  ill  just  after  I  left.  I  had  a 
letter  on  Saturday  from  Mr.  Wor- 
boys." 

The  lady  spoke. 

"  I  received  a  telegram  on  Friday. 
Mr.  Reed  was  then  better  -,  but  his 
illness,  I  fear,  has  been  dangerous." 


107 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

Her  voice  reassured  Langley,  so 
nearly  was  it  the  voice  of  days  gone 
by.  In  face  and  figure  Lady  Revill 
retained  more  of  youth  than  he  had 
allowed  himself  to  expect ;  on  the 
other  hand,  her  beaaty  appeared  to 
him  of  less  sympathetic  type  than 
that  which  his  memory  preserved. 
She  was  thirty-seven,  and,  like  most 
handsome  women  who  have  lived  to 
that  age  amid  the  numberless  privi- 
leges of  wealth,  had  lost  no  attribute 
of  her  sex ;  feminine  at  every  point, 
she  still,  merely  as  a  woman,  dis- 
composed the  man  who  approached 
her.  Yet  her  features  had  under- 
gone a  change,  and  of  the  kind  that 
time  alone  would  not  account  for. 
Langley  defined  it  to  himself  as 
loss  of  sweetness,  for  which  was 
substituted  a  cold  dignity,  capable 
of  passing  into  austere  pride.  This 
was  independent  of  her  gravity 
assumed  for  the  occasion  ;  he  saw 
it  inseparable  from  her  countenance. 
He  felt  sure  that  she  did  not  often 
smile.      In   silence   her    lips   were 


io8 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

somewhat  too  closely  set — a  pity, 
seeing  how  admirable  was  their 
natural  contour. 

She  was  so  well  dressed  that 
Langley  had  no  consciousness  of 
what  she  wore,  save  that  it  shim- 
mered pearly-grey.  Her  hair  had 
not  changed  at  all ;  now  as  then, 
she  well  understood  how  to  make 
manifest  its  abundance,  whilst  sub- 
duing it  to  the  fine  shape  of  her 
head.  Her  hand  bore  only  two 
rings,  the  plain  circlet  and  the 
keeper ;  its  beauty  was  but  the 
more  declared. 

"  I  knew  nothing  of  this  illness 
when  I  wrote  asking  your  per- 
mission to  call.  But  it  was  or 
Louis  that  I  wished  to  speak." 

Again  he  saw  the  singular  expec- 
tancy in  Lady  Revill's  look.  Her 
eyes  fell  before  his  scrutiny.  He 
continued. 

"  When  I  learnt  that  he  was  your 
ward,  I  of  course  felt  a  greater  inte- 
rest in  him.  I  told  him  I  had  known 
you  before   your  marriage,  and  in 


109 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

that  way  we  quickly  formed  a 
friendship.  It  is  as  his  friend  that 
I  must  now  venture  to  speak  to 
you.  I  came  to  England  with  this 
purpose,  after  persuading  him,  with 
great  difficulty,  to  give  up  an  inten- 
tion he  had  of  coming  hurriedly 
back  himself.  The  news  of  his 
illness  hardly  surprised  me.  I  left 
him  in  a  terribly  excited  state — the 
result  of  a  letter  he  had  received 
from  London." 

Langley  talked  on  without  con- 
straint, but  not  without  an  uncom 
fortable  sense  that  he  must  appeai 
impertinent  in  the  eyes  of  the  mute, 
grave  listener.  Her  coldness,  how- 
ever, had  begun  to  touch  his  pride ; 
he  felt  the  possibility  of  braving 
considerations  which  would  have 
embarrassed  him  seriously  enough 
even  had  Lady  Revill  betrayed  some 
tenderness  for  their  common  memo- 
ries. 

"  A  letter  from  me  ?  "  she  asked, 
in  deliberate  tones. 

"  From  Mrs.  Tresilian." 


no 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

A  shadow  crossed  her  face.  Her 
lips  grew  harder, 

"  In  a  boy's  spirit  of  confidence," 
Langley  pursued,  "  he  had  talked  to 
me  of  Mrs.  Tresilian,  whom  I  know 
only  by  name.  He  had  told  me  that 
he  regarded  her  as  a  very  dear  friend, 
and  told  me  also  that  it  was  a  friend- 
ship of  which  his  guardian  disap- 
proved. Then,  one  morning,  Mr. 
Worboys  came  to  me  in  great 
anxiety  ;  Louis  had  been  somehow 
upset  by  a  letter,  and  was  bent  on 
returning  to  England  as  soon  as 
possible.  Mr.  Worboys  asked  me 
to  aid  him  in  opposing  this  resolve. 
I  did  so,  and  successfully,  but  not 
until  Louis  had  told  me  the  facts 
of  the  case.  Mrs.  Tresilian  had 
written  to  him  that  their  friendship 
must  come  to  an  end,  the  reason 
being  that  she  had  learnt  how  dis- 
tasteful it  was  to  you.  A  gentleman, 
unnamed,  had  called  upon  her,  and 
begged  her  to  make  this  sacrifice 
out  of  regard  for  the  young  man's 
welfare." 


Ill 


i 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

With  satisfaction  he  perceived 
that  his  narrative  v^as  overcoming 
the  Hstener's  cold  reserve.  It  be- 
came obvious  that  Lady  Revill  had 
no  knowledge  of  these  details. 

"  I  cannot  think,"  she  said,  "  that 
any  one  known  to  me  has  behaved 
in  that  strange  manner." 

"Louis  had  no  choice  but  to 
believe  his  friend's  explanation.  I 
thought  it  probable  that  he  had 
written  to  you  on  the  subject." 

"He  wrote  a  very  short  and 
vehement  letter.  But  it  contained 
no  word  of  this."  She  paused  for 
an  instant,  then  added,  "  All  he  had 
to  say  to  me  was  that  he  begged  me 
to  grant  him  his  independence,  that 
he  wished  to  go  forth  into  the  world 
without  assistance  or  advice  from 
any  one,  and  more  to  the  same 
effect.  I  have  had  such  letters  from 
him  before." 

"You  can  understand  now  how 
he  came  to  write  in  that  strain." 

Langley  spoke,  in  spite  of  himself, 
with    less    scrupulous    respect   than 


112 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

hitherto — somewhat  curtly.  On 
Louis's  behalf,  he  resented  Lady 
Revill's  unsympathetic  tone. 

"  I  can  understand,"  she  said, 
"  that  the  person  whom  he  calls 
his  friend  may  have  wrought  cruelly 
upon  his  feelings  ;  but  I  repeat  that 
no  acquaintance  of  mine  can  possibly 
have  had  any  part  in  the  matter." 

Langley  reflected,  and  controlled 
his  tongue,  which  threatened  to 
outrun  discretion. 

"In  any  case.  Lady  Revill,  his 
feelings  were  cruelly  wrought  upon, 
and  to  that  the  poor  boy's  illness  is 
due.  May  I  speak  now  of  some- 
thing that  had  entered  my  mind 
even  before  this  event  ?  Louis 
talked  a  good  deal  to  me  of  his 
position  and  of  his  aims.  You  will 
do  me  the  justice  to  take  for  granted 
that  I  in  no  way  encouraged  him  in 
discontent.  On  the  contrary,  I  did 
my  best  to  keep  him  reminded  of 
how  young  he  was,  and  how  in- 
experienced. Happily  there  was 
no  need  to  insist  upon  the  deference 


113  H 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

he  owed  to  your  wishes ;  on  that 
point  he  showed  a  right  feeling. 
But  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  and 
with  a  temperament  such  as  his, 
it  is  difficult  always  to  act  unselfishly, 
or  even  rationally.  Whatever  the 
source  of  it,  he  is  possessed  with  a 
resolve  to  be — as  he  puts  it — of 
some  use  in  the  world.  You  know 
the  meaning  of  that  formula  on  the 
lips  of  a  young  man  nowadays.  He 
is  going  through  the  stage  of  hot 
radicalism.  Education  for  its  own 
sake  seems  to  him  mere  waste  of 
time.  The  burden  of  the  world  is 
on  his  shoulders." 

Langley's  smile  elicited  no  re- 
sponse. But  Lady  Revill  had 
abandoned  her  statuesque  pose,  and 
her  countenance  reflected  anxious 
thoughts. 

"Mr.  Worboys,"  she  remarked 
coldly,  "  seems  to  have  been  unable 
to  influence  him." 

"  Quite  unable,  though  I  should 
say  that  travel  had  not  been  without 
its  good  eflFect.     Mr.  Worboys  has 


114 


oLEEPING   FIRES. 

too  little  understanding  of  his  pupil's 
mind." 

"What  were  you  about  to  sug- 
gest, Mr.  Langley  ? " 

"Nothing  very  definite.  But  I 
think  I  can  enter  into  Louis's  feel- 
ings, and  I  seemed  to  attract  his 
confidence,  and  this  suggested  to 
me  that  I  might  be  of  some  service 
if  other  influences  failed.  I  know 
that  I  am  inviting  a  rebuke  for 
officiousness.  A  word,  and  I  efface 
myself  again.  But  if  you  permit 
me  to  serve  you,  I  would  gladly  do 
all  I  can." 

"The  difficulty  is  very  great," 
said  Lady  Revill,  "  and  I  feel  it  as  a 
kindness  that  you  should  wish  to 
help  me.  But  how  ?  I  am  slov/ 
to  catch  your  meaning." 

"All  I  should  ask  of  you  would 
be  a  permission  to  continue,  with 
your  good  will,  the  relations  with 
Louis  which  began  at  Athens.  I 
am  an  idle  man,  without  engage- 
ments, without  responsibilities. 
When  Louis   comes   home,  would 


ns 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

you  consent  to  my  taking  up,  in- 
formally, the  position  Mr.  Worboys 
will  relinquish  ?  It  would  give  me 
a  purpose  in  life — which  I  feel  the 
want  of — and  it  might,  I  think, 
afford  you  some  relief  from  anxiety." 

Lady  Revill  sat  with  eyes  cast 
down  ;  she  kept  so  long  a  silence 
that  Langley  allowed  himself  to 
utter  his  impatient  thought. 

"  You  don't  like  to  say  that  you 
think  me  unfit  for  such  a  charge  ?  " 

"I  had  nothing  of  that  sort  in 
iiiind,  Mr.  Langley,"  she  answered, 
in  a  lowered  and  softened  tone. 

"  You  shrink  from  restoring  me, 
thus  far,  to  your  friendly  confidence." 

"  That  is  not  the  cause  of  my 
hesitation." 

Langley  winced  at  this  reply, 
which  was  spoken  with  a  return 
to  the  more  distant  manner. 

"  In  brief,  then,"  he  said  quietly, 
"  my  offer  is  unwelcome,  and  I  must 
ask  your  pardon  for  venturing  it." 

"  You  misunderstand  me.  I  am 
very  willing  that  you  should  act  as 
you  propose." 

ii6 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

It  seemed  to  him,  now,  that  Lady 
Revill  assumed  the  tone  of  granting 
a  suit  for  favour.  Moment  by  mo- 
ment her  proximity,  her  voice, 
regained  the  old  power  over  him, 
and  with  the  revival  of  tender 
emotion  he  grew  more  sensitive 
to  the  meanings  of  her  reserve. 

"  But,"  he  remarked,  "  you  foresee 
a  number  of  practical  difficulties  ?  " 

Very  strangely,  she  again  kept  a 
long  silence.     Her  visitor  rose. 

"I  ought  not  to  ask  you  to 
decide  this  matter  at  once.  Lady 
Revill.  Enough  if  you  will  give 
it  your  consideration." 

"  It  is  decided,"  she  made  answer, 
rising  also,  but  with  a  hesitation,  all 
but  a  timidity,  which  did  not  escape 
Langley's  eye.  "My  difficulty  is 
that  I  must  acquaint  you  with 
certain  facts  concerning  Louis 
which  I  don't  feel  able  to  speak 
of  in  this  moment." 

"If  you  will  let  me  see  you  at 
another  time " 

"  Do  you  remain  at  the  hotel  ?  " 

117 


SLEEPING   FIRES 

"For  the  present.  I  have  no 
home." 

"Believe,  Mr.  Langley,  that  I 
feel  the  kindness  v^^hich  has  brought 
you  here." 

She  seemed  of  a  sudden  anxious 
tu  atone  for  cold  formalities.  Her 
face,  he  thought,  had  a  somewhat 
brighter  colour,  and  the  touch  of 
diffidence  in  her  bearing  v^as  more 
perceptible. 

"  If  you  knew  how  glad  I  am  to 
speak  with  you  once  more " 

Suppressed  emotion  at  length 
betrayed  itself  in  his  voice,  and  he 
stopped. 

"  I  will  let  you  hear  very  soon," 
said  Lady  Revill. 

She  offered  her  hand,  and  Langley 
at  once  withdrew.  When  he  had 
left  the  house  it  surprised  him  to 
find  how  short  the  interview  had 
been,  and  he  was  puzzled  at  the 
abruptness  of  its  termination.  He 
had  imagined  that  they  would  talk 
either  for  a  mere  five  minutes  or 
for  a  couple  of  hours. 


ii8 


VIII. 

UT  the  worst  of  his 
suspense  was  over.  He 
could  now  seek  such 
congenial  acquaintances 
as  he  had  in  town,  and 
look  to  their  society 
with  the  relish  born  of 
long  solitude.  Never  a 
man  of  many  friends, 
he  knew  himself  wel- 
come at  all  times  in 
certain  households  of 
good  standing  ;  and  for 
some  years  he  had  belonged  to  one 
of  the  most  agreeable  of  literary 
clubs.  It  was  early  in  the  London 
season  ;  a  man  who  felt  that  he  had 
somehow  entered  upon  a  new  lease 
of  life  could  not  do  better,  whilst 


119 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

grave  possibilities  hung  in  the 
balance,  than  live  as  London  pre- 
scribes to  those  w^ho  have  means 
and  leisure,  taste  and  social  con- 
nexions. 

First  of  all,  however,  he  dis- 
patched a  letter  to  Louis  Reed  ;  a 
letter  wrarm  with  the  kindest 
sympathy,  and  full  of  hopeful 
suggestiveness.  All  was  going  well, 
he  assured  Louis,  and  news  more 
definite  should  come  before  long. 

He  thought  it  likely  that  some 
days  would  elapse  before  he  heard 
from  Lady  Revill ;  and  so,  when 
he  rose  on  the  following  morning, 
he  had  no  special  anxiety  to  inquire 
for  letters.  But  on  entering  the 
cofFee-room,  he  saw  that  the  un- 
expected had  happened  ;  there  was 
a  letter  for  him,  and  from  Lady 
Revill.  Having  given  his  order  for 
breakfast,  he  broke  the  envelope. 
It  contained  several  pages  of  writing, 
which,  to  his  surprise,  did  not  begin 
with  any  form  of  epistolary  address  ; 
at  the  end,  he  saw,  stood   merely 


120 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

the  signature,  "  Agnes  Revill."  In 
one  whom  he  believed  so  careful 
of  conventionalities,  this  seemed 
strange.  Hastily  he  glanced  over 
the  first  page  ;  then  he  folded  the 
letter,  and  cast  a  glance  about  him 
a  glance  of  bewilderment,  of  appre- 
hension, as  though  afraid  of  a 
stranger's  proximity.  Catching  a 
waiter's  eye,  he  rose,  and  directed 
that  his  breakfast  should  be  kept 
back  till  he  again  ordered  it ;  then 
he  went  upstairs  to  his  bedroom. 

Sunshine  flooded  the  room.  Stand- 
ing with  his  back  to  the  window, 
and  so  that  the  morning  glory 
streamed  upon  the  paper  in  his 
hand,  he  read  what  follows  : — 

"In  the  autumn  of  1877,  a  year 
after  my  marriage,  I  went  to  spend 
a  fortnight  with  my  parents,  at  their 
home.  Whilst  staying  there,  I 
heard,  in  family  talk,  that  a  middle- 
aged  couple  who  were  old  friends  of 
ours,  their  name  Reed — people  in  a 
humble  position,  whom  I  think  you 
never  met,  and  perhaps  never  heard 


121 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

spoken  of — had  recently  adopted  a 
child,  a  little  waif  of  three  years  old. 
I  called  upon  them,  and  they  told 
me,  as  far  as  they  knew  it,  this 
child's  history. 

"  A  few  years  before,  a  young 
and  parentless  girl,  whom  they  had 
known  since  her  childhood,  had 
disappeared  from  the  town ;  her 
name  was  Eliza  Morton.  Suspicion 
arose  that  she  had  gone  away  with 
a  man  named  Hollingdon,  a  com- 
mercial traveller,  and  some  attempts 
were  made  to  discover  her  where- 
abouts, but  these  efforts  failed.  But 
in  the  summer  of  1877,  Mrs.  Reed 
one  day  received  a  message  from 
the  young  woman,  who  had  re- 
turned to  the  town,  and  lay  ill  at 
a  lodging-house.  Mrs.  Reed  went 
to  see  her,  and  found  her  in  a  dying 
state.  The  woman  said  that  she 
was  married,  and  to  the  man  who 
had  been  suspected  of  leading  her 
astray ;  the  child  she  had  with  her, 
a  little  boy,  was  the  offspring  of 
this  union.     Hollingdon  had  taken 


122 


S^  SLEEPING   FIRES. 

^■er  abroad,  to  South  Africa,  where 
^^ventually  he  deserted  her,  but  not 
without  leaving  her  suiiicient  means 
to  return  to  England.  For  twelve 
months  she  had  been  in  failing 
health,  and  it  was  with  difficulty 
that  she  reached  her  native  town. 
Fearing  she  might  not  recover,  she 
appealed  to  Mrs.  Reed  on  behalf  of 
the  child,  whose  name,  she  said, 
was  Percival  Louis  Hollingdon. 
After  a  consultation  with  her 
husband,  Mrs.  Reed  consented  to 
take  charge  of  the  child  should 
the  mother  die — an  event  which 
happened  a  few  days  later. 

"  The  Reeds  thought  it  doubtful 
whether  the  young  woman  had 
really  been  married  ;  she  wore  a 
wedding-ring,  but  evaded  questions 
as  to  the  date  and  place  of  the 
ceremony.  That,  however,  did  not 
affect  their  promise  on  the  child's 
behalf.  Childless  themselves,  they 
were  very  willing  to  adopt  this  poor 
little  boy,  v/hose  intelligence  and 
prettiness  made  him  interesting  for 


123 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

his  own  sake.  So  he  was  taken 
into  their  home.  As  Mrs.  Reed 
had  no  Hking  for  the  name  Percival, 
she  decided  to  use  the  child's  second 
name,  and  call  him  Louis.  For 
patronymic  he  received  their  own, 
and  so  grew  up  as  Louis  Reed. 

"  As  years  went  on,  I  frequently 
saw  this  child,  who  grew  much 
endeared  to  his  adoptive  parents. 
When  he  was  seven,  Mrs.  Reed 
died.  Her  husband  survived  her  for 
two  years  only,  and  in  broken 
health.  Shortly  before  his  death, 
in  1882,  I  went  to  see  him,  and 
on  this  occasion  he  revealed  to  me 
a  fact  which  had  been  known  to 
him  for  about  six  months — a  fact 
relating  to  Louis  Reed's  origin. 
He  said  that  he  had  received  a  visit 
from  the  man  Hollingdon,  who, 
newly  back  from  wanderings  over 
the  world,  was  making  inquiries  in 
the  town  concerning  his  wife,  and 
had  been  directed  to  Mrs.  Reed. 
On  learning  all  that  had  happened, 
Hollingdon  declared  that  the  dead 


124 


I 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 


woman  had  spoken  falsely  in  saying 
that  her  child  was  his  also.  It  was 
true  that  he  had  married  Elizr 
Morton,  but  only  after  she  had 
lived,  in  London,  with  another  man, 
to  whom  she  had  borne  a  child. 
He  affirmed  that,  out  of  love  for  the 
girl,  who  had  broken  with  her 
'  protector,'  he  permitted  her  to  take 
the  child  when  they  were  married 
and  went  abroad  together.  Subse- 
quently, he  confessed,  he  deserted 
his  wife,  partly  because  he  wished 
for  a  child  of  his  own,  and  felt 
jealous  of  her  devotion  to  the  little 
boy.  Asked  if  he  knew  the  name 
of  this  boy's  father,  he  said  that  it 
was  Langley. 

"There  seemed  no  reason  to 
doubt  the  story.  The  dying  woman 
had  doubtless  been  ashamed  to  con- 
fess the  whole  truth  to  her  friends  ; 
she  wished  to  leave  an  honourable 
memory,  and  thought,  no  doubt, 
that  she  was  doing  the  best  thing 
for  her  child.  With  its  father  she 
either  could  not,  or  would  not, 
communicate. 

125 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

"As  you  have  interested  yourself 
in  Louis  Reed,  I  felt  it  necessary 
to   inform    you   of    these   circum- 
stances.    On  Mrs.  Reed's  death,  I 
made    myself    responsible    for    the 
boy's    future.      A    small     sum    of 
money  was  left  for  his  use  when  he 
should  come   of  age.     Mrs.    Reed 
had  had  him  well  taught  at  a  day- 
school,  and  his  education  proceeded 
much  as  it  would  have  done  had  he 
been  my  own  child.     During   the 
last  three  years,  he  has  regarded  my 
house  as  his  home,  and  me  as  legally 
his   guardian.     He  knows  that  the 
Reeds  were  not  his  parents,  having 
learnt  that  from  the  talk  of  his  early 
schoolfellows ;     and    on     the     one 
occasion  when  he  asked  me  about 
his  origin,  I  thought  it  the  wisest 
course    to   profess    total    ignorance. 
From    Mr.     and     Mrs.     Reed,    it 
appears,  he  had  learnt  nothing  on 
this  point." 

After  this  came  the  simple  signa- 
ture. 

An  hour  elapsed  before  Langley 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

left  the  room,  and  went  down  to 
breakfast.  The  unobservant  waiter 
remarked  no  change  in  him,  but  in 
truth  the  interval  had  changed  his 
aspect  wonderfully — had  lent  his 
features  the  vivacity  of  youth,  and 
given  him  a  lighter  step,  a  more 
animated  bearing.  As  he  sat  at  the 
breakfast  table  and  affected  to  read 
the  newspaper,  his  vision  was  more 
than  once  dimmed  with  moisture ; 
he  smiled  frequently. 

After  the  meal,  he  wrote  to  Lady 
Revill,  and,  in  imitation  of  hei 
example,  omitted  epistolary  forms. 

"  Will  you  let  me  see  you  very 
soon  ?  May  I  come  to-morrow 
morning,  at  the  same  hour  as 
yesterday  ? — Edmund  Langley." 

He  was  engaged  to  lunch  at 
Hampstead,  and  he  walked  all  the 
way  thither  from  Trafalgar  Square  ; 
it  seemed  the  pleasantest  mode  of 
passing  so  fine  a  morning.  For  he 
had  an  unfamiliar  surplus  of  energy 
to  work  off  J  and  the  buoyancy  of 
his  spirits  could  not  find  adequate 


127 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

play  save  in  the  open  air  and  the 
sunshine.  After  his  climb  up  the 
northern  heights,  finding  that  he 
would  have  half  an  hour  to  spare, 
he  executed  a  purpose  which  had 
only  come  into  his  mind  when  the 
beginning  of  fatigue  enabled  him  to 
think  more  soberly  ;  he  went  to  the 
post-office  and  wrote  a  telegram 
addressed  to  Worboys  at  Athens. 
"Send  me  news  of  Louis  without 
delay."  This  dispatched,  he  walked 
on  in  meditation.  "  All  danger  was 
over  some  days  ago,"  ran  his 
thoughts.  "  But  I  must  know  how 
he  is.  And  to-morrow  evening — 
yes,  to-morrow  evening — I  start  for 
Greece  again  !  " 

His  hostess,  a  charming  woman, 
as  she  talked  with  him  after 
luncheon,  paid  a  merry  compliment 
to  the  health  and  brilliancy  he  had 
brought  back  from  the  classic  land. 
Langley,  absorbed  at  the  moment 
in  his  own  thoughts,  said,  as  though 
replying  : 

"  Do  you  know  Mrs.  Tresilian  ?  " 


128 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

"  A  singular  question  !  Has  she 
any  credit  for  your  air  of  happi- 
ness ?  " 

"I  am  not  acquainted  with  her, 
but  I  wish  to  find  some  one  who  is." 

"  Be  your  wish  fulfilled.  I  know 
Mrs.  Tresilian,  and  have  known  her 
for  years." 

"Yes,"  said  Langley,  with  a 
smile,  "I  am  fortune's  favourite. 
Pray  tell  me  something  about  her." 

"Oh,  she  is  delightful.  Dine 
with  us  on  Sunday,  and  I  think  I 
can  promise  you  shall  meet  her." 

"  I  shall  probably  be  thousands  of 
miles  away.  But  what  can  you  tell 
me  of  Mr.  Tresilian  ?  " 

"Monsieur  is  a  most  estimable 
man,"  answered  the  lady,  with  a 
face  of  good-humour.  "Somewhat 
older  than  his  wife,  it  is  true,  but  a 
model  of  the  domestic  virtues,  and 
sincerely  respected  by  all  who  know 
him — though  I  am  bound  to  say 
they  are  few.  His  passion  is  for 
agriculture  ;  he  lives  for  the  most 
part  on  his  farm  in  Norfolk." 


129 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

"  And  Mrs.  Tresilian  prefers  the 
town  ?  " 

"  She  is  a  citizeness  of  the  world, 
and  lives  wherever  she  can  do  good. 
I  am  quite  serious.  A  great  deal  of 
nonsense  is  talked  and  believed  about 
her.  She  is  'advanced/  but  I  wish 
all  women  were  equally  to  the  fore 
in  work  and  spirit  such  as  hers." 

"  I  am  very  glad  indeed  to  hear 
this,"  said  Langley,  in  a  grave  tone. 
"  I  thought  it  probable." 

"  Oh,  generous  man  !  How  your 
view  of  probabilities  becomes  you  !  " 

''  I  am  getting  old,  remember. 
Let  the  young  enjoy  the  privilege 
of  cynicism.  And  yet  there  are 
young  people,  even  in  our  day,' who 
can  think  with  the  generosity  which 
ought  to  be  the  note  of  youth." 

"Happily,"  returned  the  hostess, 
"I  know  one  or  two — girls,  of 
course." 

"  Of  course  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I 
was  thinking  of  a  noble-spirited  boy." 

He  dropped  his  eyes,  for  they 
dazzled. 


130 


3^/«£«\i^ 


IX, 


|IS  hope  of  receiving  a 
telegram  from  Athens 
before  night  was  dis- 
appointed. But  he  did 
not  allow  this  to  dis- 
turb him  J  it  might 
be  explained  in  several 
ways.  The  notorious 
uncertainty  of  postal 
matters  in  Greece  made 
it  possible  that  Worboys 
had  not  yet  received 
the  message.  All  was  well ;  he 
looked  forward  with  the  steadfast 
gaze  of  a  rapt  visionary. 

-  The  morning  would  bring  a 
reply  from  Lady  Revill ;  and  in 
this  his  confidence  was  justified. 
She  expected  him  at  eleven  o'clock. 


131 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

When  he  entered  the  drawing- 
room,  it  was  vacant.  He  moved 
about,  glancing  at  the  pictures  and 
other  objects  of  interest ;  and 
presently  his  eye  fell  upon  a 
photograph  of  Louis,  which  stood 
on  a  table.  An  excellent  likeness  ; 
he  regarded  it  with  such  intense 
delight  that  he  was  not  aware  of 
the  entrance  and  approach  of  Lady 
Revill ;  her  voice,  bidding  him 
good  morning,  called  his  startled 
attention,  and  he  took  with  un- 
thinking ardour  the  hand  she 
offered. 

"  Have  you  any  news  from 
Athens  ?  " 

"None."  She  withdrew  her 
hand,  and  retired  a  little,  but  did 
not  sit  down.  "  As  the  last  tele- 
gram was  so  reassuring,  I  feel  no 
uneasiness." 

Her  demeanour  had  more  suavity 
than  on  the  former  occasion.  Still 
reserved,  still  clad  in  her  conscious 
dignity,  and  speaking  with  the  voice 
of  one  who  has  much  to  pardon,  she 


132 


I 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

manifested  relief;  and  Langley  felt 
no  check  upon  the  impulses  which 
demanded  utterance. 

"  I  telegraphed  yesterday  rnorning, 
but  there  was  no  reply  when  I  left 
the  hotel.  No  news  is  of  course 
good  news.  As  soon  as  I  have 
heard,  I  shall  start." 

«  For  Athens  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

They  exchanged  a  look.  Lady 
Revill  did  not  invite  him  to  be 
seated,  and  her  wandering  eyes,  as 
she  stood  in  the  unconsciously  fine 
attitude  of  a  tall,  graceful  woman, 
expectant,  embarrassed,  explained 
the  neglect  of  forms. 

"  Why  have  you  kept  this  from 
me  ?  "  he  proceeded.  "  But  for  an 
accident,  should  I  never  have 
known  it  ? " 

"  Perhaps,  never.  Perhaps,  when 
Louis  attained  manhood." 

"May  I  hope  to  know  your 
reasons  ? " 

"  You  do  not  doubt  the  truth  of 
the    story    on    which    it    all    de- 


133 


SLEEPING   FIRES 

pends  ? "  she  asked,  without  regard- 
ing him. 

"  How  can  I  doubt  it  ?  Every 
detail  in  your  narrative  is  true — so 
far  as  they  come  within  my  own 
knowledge." 

"  Yet  no  suspicion  crossed  your 
mind — at  Athens  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  have  been  led  to 
such  a  thought  ?  The  name — 
Louis — but  then  it  wasn't  the 
name  by  which  his  mother  called 
him — the  name  of  her  own 
choosing.  And  the  fact  of  your 
guardianship;  was  that  Hkely  to 
turn  my  suspicions  towards  the 
truth  ?  " 

Lady  Revill  cast  a  glance  towards 
Louis's  portrait  on  the  table. 

"Did  no  one  with  whom  you 
were  in  company  perceive  a 
personal  likeness  ? " 

"  Worboys  seems  not  to  have 
observed  anything  of  the  kind.  Is 
there  a  likeness  ?  " 

He  turned  to  the  photograph, 
and  then  again  to  Lady  Revill,  with 


134 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

a  light  of  ingenuous  pleasure  on  his 
face. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  she  an- 
swered coldly,  "  how  the  resem- 
blance escaped  any  one  who  saw 
you  together." 

'  Langley   smiled,    with    difficulty 
repressing  a  laugh  of  joy. 

"Mr.  Worboys  lives  in  the 
ancient  world  ;  modern  trivialities 
make  no  impression  upon  him. 
And  this  Hkeness  confirmed  you 
in  the  belief  of  what  you  had  been 
told  ?  " 

His  voice,  vibrant  with  glad 
feeling,  fell  to  a  note  that  was 
almost  of  intimacy. 

"  I  am  surprised,"  said  Lady 
Revill,  taking  a  few  steps  and 
laying  her  hand  upon  a  chair,  "  that 
the  revelation  seems  so  welcome  to 
you." 

"  It  is  more  to  me  than  I  dare  tell 
you,"  he  answered  with  a  fervour 
which  seemed  to  resent  her  lack  of 
sympathy.  "  How  you  yourself 
feel  towards  Louis,  I  cannot  know ; 


135 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

yet  you  must  have  some  under- 
standing of  what  it  means  to  a  man 
very  much  alone  in  the  world  when 
he  finds  that  Louis  is  his  own  son." 

"  Have  you  ever  tried  to  dis- 
cover what  had  become  of  the 
child  ? " 

*' Never.  Will  you  forgive  a 
question  I  am  obliged  to  ask  you 
in  return  ?  It  is  this :  Did  your 
parents  speak  of  me  to  you,  when 
I  went  away,  with  absolute  con- 
demnation ?  Or  did  they  offer 
any  excuses  for  my  behaviour  in 
their  house  ?  I  took  care  that  my 
story  should  be  made  known  to  you. 
But  will  you  let  me  know  in  what 
shape  it  was  related  ?  " 

Lady  Revill  seated  herself; 
Langley  remained  standing.  The 
great  joy  that  had  befallen  him 
overcame  his  oppressive  self-con- 
sciousness ;  and  the  thought  that 
this  beautiful  woman,  whom  in  his 
heart  he  still  named  ^*  Agnes,"  had 
for  years  been  mother  to  his  son, 
gave     him    a    right     of    intimate 


.136 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

approach  not  to  be  denied  by  her 
stateliest  gravity. 

"  I  only  knew,"  was  her  distanc 
answer,  "  that  you  had  a  responsi- 
bility which  forbade  your  marriage." 

"  That  is  extremely  vague."  He 
began  to  speak  as  one  who  demands, 
rather  than  requests,  an  explanation. 
"  Besides,  it  was  not  true." 

"  How  can  you  say  that  ?  "  Lady 
Revill  looked  upon  him  for  an 
instant  with  surprise.  "  You  have 
acknowledged  the  truth  of  what 
I  put  in  writing." 

"There  was  no  responsibility 
that  forbade  marriage.  When  I 
told  your  father  my  story,  he  took 
time  to  think  about  it,  and  I  then 
heard  from  him  that  it  was  deemed 
impossible  to  speak  to  you  of  such 
things.  I  accepted  this  decision, 
but  only  for  a  day.  Then  I  under- 
stood that  respect  for  your  parents 
must  not  make  me  unjust  to  myself 
— and  perhaps  to  you.  When  I 
wrote,  at  length,  asking  you  to  be 
my  wife,  I  wrote  at  the  same  time 


137 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

to  your  father,  telling  him  of  the 
step  I  had  taken,  and  requesting 
that  you  should  be  informed  of  all 
I  had  let  him  know.  It  seemed 
my  only  course :  rightly  or 
wrongly,  our  habits  forbid  a  man 
to  speak  of  such"  things  to  the  girl 
he  wishes  to  marry.  Is  it  possible 
that  your  father,  in  replying  that 
you  had  heard  *  everything,'  did  not 
tell  the  truth  ?  I  know  what 
crimes  good  people  will  commit  in 
the  name  of  morality  ;  but  surely 
Mr.  Forrest  was  incapable  of  such 
transaction  with  his  honour  ?  " 

The  listener's  countenance  grew 
fixed  as  a  face  in  marble.  Langley, 
unheeding  its  frigid  reproof,  went 
on. 

"  Did  you  know  all  the  facts  ? 
Or  only  that  I  was  father  of  a 
child  ?  Or  perhaps  not  even  as 
much  as  that  ?  " 

The  statue  spoke. 

"  I  knew  of  the  child's  existence. 
It  was  enough." 

"  From    my  point   of    view,  far 


138 


if 


SLEEPING   FIRES, 


from  enough.  You  were  never 
told  that  the  child's  mother,  of  her 
own  desire,  had  married  another 
man  and  taken  the  child  away  ?  " 

^'  The  knowledge  could  not  have 
affected  my  opinion."  ' 

It  was  spoken  with  undisguisable 
effort.  Langley,  watching  her  face 
intently,  saw  a  quiver  of  the  brows 
and  of  the  hard-set  lips. 

^*  Ah,  then  you  did  not  know. 
In  telling  you  so  much,  and  no 
more,  your  parents  did  me  a 
grave  wrong." 

"  Mr.  Langley,  your  own  wrong- 
doing was  so  much  graver  that 
I  cannot  see  what  right  you  have 
to  reproach  them." 

His  blood  was  now  warm ;  his 
pride  rose  in  contest  with  hers. 

"  In  a  case  Hke  this,  Lady  Revill, 
the  question  of  right  or  wrong  can 
only  be  decided  on  a  most  intimate 
acquaintance     with     the     circum- 


stances." 


"  I  think  otherwise.     Admission 
of  one  fact  is  enough." 


139 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

"  There  we  are  at  issue,  and 
I  daresay  neither  of  us  would  care 
to  argue  on  the  subject.  But  in 
one  respect  your  natural  kindness 
has  overcome  the  severity  of  your 
creed.  You  did  not  visit  upon  the 
child  the  sins  of  the  father." 

Lady  Revill  was  silent. 

*^  If  you  had  condemned  me," 
proceeded  Langley,  "because  I 
neglected  my  duty  to  the  boy, 
I  could  have  said  little  enough  to 
excuse  myself.  There,  indeed,  I 
was  guilty.  The  circumstances 
made  it  difficult  for  me  to  act 
otherwise  than  I  did ;  but  none 
the  less  I  threw  aside  carelessly  the 
gravest  responsibility  that  can  be 
laid  upon  a  man.  In  your  view,  no 
doubt,  it  was  my  first  duty  to  marry 
the  mother.  To  have  done  that 
would  have  been  to  lay  the  founda- 
tion of  life-long  misery.  My 
selfishness — if  you  like — saved  me 
from  worse  than  folly.  But  it  is 
true  that  I  ought  not  to  have  given 
up  the  child  to  an  unknown  fate. 


140 


[  SLEEPING    FIRES. 

The  mere  ceremony  of  marriage  is 
of  no  account ;  but  a  parent  is 
bound  by  every  kind  of  law  in  the 
interests  of  his  child." 

A  movement  in  his  hearer 
checked  him.  Turning,  he  saw 
that  a  servant  had  entered  the 
room.  The  man  silently  ap- 
proached, and  presented  a  salver 
on  which  lay  a  telegram. 
m  "I  think  this  is  from  Athens," 
'  said  Lady  Revill,  when  they  were 
alone  again. 

Langley  waited,  his  pulse  quick- 
ened with  expectation .  He  watched 
the  delicate  hands  as  they  broke  the 
envelope,  saw  them  unfold  the 
paper,  saw  them  suddenly  fall. 

"What  news ?" 

Her  eyes  had  turned  to  him.  In 
their  stricken  look,  in  the  blanching 
of  her  cheeks  and  of  her  parted  lips, 
he  read  what  lay  before  her. 

"  Will  you  let  me  see  ?  "  he  said 
quietly. 

She  gave  him  the  telegram. 

"  Grieve  to  say  that  Louis  died 


141 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

this  morning.  Painless  and  like 
a  sleep.  Please  let  me  know  your 
wishes." 

He  looked  to  the  sunny  window,^ 
but  saw  nothing.  Dark  wings 
seemed  to  beat  over  him,  and  chill 
him  with  their  shadow.  Lady 
Revill  had  risen  ;  the  sound  of  a 
sob  escaped  her,  and  she  trembled, 
but  her  eyes  were  tearless.  Then 
Langley  faced  her  again. 

"  I  must  reply  at  once.  What  is 
your  wish,  Lady  Revill  ?  " 

"  My  wish  is  yours.  Would  you 
like  him  to  be  brought  to 
England  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  What  does  it  matter  ?  " 
he  answered  in  a  hard  voice. 

"  It  is  yours  to  decide." 

Her  utterance  echoed  the  note  of 
his.  They  stood  regarding  each 
other  distantly,  their  faces  stricken 
with  a  grief  which  they  strove  to 
master. 

"Let  him  be  buried  among  the 
»*uins,"  said  Langley,  with  bitter 
emphasis. 


142 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

He  laid  the  telegram  on  a  table  ; 
stood  for  a  moment  in  hesitancy  ; 
turned  to  his  companion. 

"  Good-bye." 

Her  lips  moved,  as  if  to  speak  the 
same  word  ;  but  another  sob  caught 
her  breath.  Commanding  herself, 
she  flashed  a  look  at  him,  and  said 
impulsively : 

"Do  you  lay  it  to  my  charge  ?  " 

Langley  was  over-wrought ;  a 
flood  of  violent  emotion  broke 
through  all  restraint. 

"  Why  have  you  stood  for  years 
between  me  and  my  son  ?  What 
right  had  you  to  withhold  him 
from  me  ?  " 

"I  see  no  shadow  of  right  in 
your  reproach.  You  cast  him  off 
when  he  was  a  little  child.  What 
claim  had  you  upon  him  when  he 
grew  up  ?  " 

"Again  you  speak  in  ignorance 
of  what  happened.  It  was  against 
my  will  that  I  let  his  mother  take 
him  away.  She  could  pretend  no 
love  for  me,  but  she  loved  her  child. 


143 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

and  I  was  unable  to  refuse  her. 
There  was  an  understanding  that, 
if  ever  she  needed  help,  she  would 
let  me  know.  In  acting  as  she  did, 
afterwards,  she  broke  her  promise 
to  me.  I  foresaw  the  possibility  of 
what  came  about.  She  knew  how 
to  communicate  with  me.  The 
child  would  have  been  brought  up 
under  my  care.  But  she  wished  to 
die  in  the  odour  of  respectability." 

"  And  does  your  conscience  ac- 
quit you  in  all  other  respects  ? " 
Lady  Revill  asked,  she,  too,  the 
mere  mouthpiece  of  tumultuous 
feelings.  "  Have  you  no  thought 
of  the  first  sin — the  source  of  all 
that  followed,  including  your 
misery  now  ?  " 

"  Say  what  you  will  of  that," 
he  answered  scornfully.  "The 
moral  folk  of  the  world  take  good 
care  that  what  they  choose  to  call 
crimes  shall  not  go  unpunished, 
and  then  they  point  to  an  avenging 
Providence.  You,  no  doubt,  in 
keeping    my    son    from   me,   con- 


144 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

sidered  yourself  to  be  discharging  a 
religious  duty.  You  feared,  per- 
haps, that  his  father  would  corrupt 
him.  If  the  boy  had  died  before  I 
sr^vv  him,  you  would  have  written 
me  a  letter,  pointing  the  moral  of 
the  tragedy.  You  have  robbed  me 
of  years  of  happiness.  And  how 
much  happier  would  his  young  life 
have  been  !  As  it  was,  you  con- 
demned him  to  a  struggle  with 
conditions  utterly  unsuited  to  his 
nature.  Your  prejudices  of  every 
kind,  your  lack  of  sympathy  with 
all  that  is  precious  to  a  generous 
young  mind  in  our  time — did  no 
perception  of  this  ever  trouble  you  ? 
Perhaps,  after  all,  I  was  wrong  in 
what  I  granted  just  now.  Perhaps 
you  knew  all  that  the  boy  was  suffer- 
ing, and  accepted  it  as  the  penalty  he 
had  to  pay  for  his  father's  vileness  ?  " 
"  You  don't  know  what  you  are 
saying ! "  exclaimed  the  other, 
shrinking  before  his  vehemence, 
and  now  gazing  at  him  with 
sorrowful  rebuke. 


145 


SLEEPING    FIRES, 


'  "  What  reason  had  you  ?  "  He 
stepped  nearer.  His  face  had  aged 
by  many  years,  and  showed  wrinkles 
hitherto  invisible  ;  his  eyelids  were 
red  and  swollen,  as  though  from 
weeping.  "  How  do  you  justify 
yourself.  Lady  Revill  ?  " 

"The  child  was  not  yours," 
she  answered,  with  troubled  breath. 
"  You  gave  him  up  to  his  mother, 
and  it  was  her  right,  when  dying, 
to  choose  what  guardian  she  would." 

"  Even  so,  you  were  not  the 
guardian  chosen.  When  you  learnt 
the  truth  from  Mrs.  Reed,  it  was 
your  duty  to  communicate  with 
me. — But  you  are  right ;  I  am 
talking  wildly  and  foolishly.  Noth- 
ing can  be  undone.  The  boy  lies 
dead  at  Athens.  Let  him  be  buried 
there — among  the  ruins." 

As  he  once  more  turned  from 
her,  his  eye  fell  upon  Louis's  por- 
trait. He  moved  towards  it,  and 
stood  gazing  at  the  ardent  face ; 
then,  without  looking  round,  said 
in  a  thick  voice  : 


146 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

"  Have  you  one  of  these  that  you 
can  give  me  ?  " 

"Take  that.  There  are  others 
that  you  shall  have." 

"  Is  there  one  taken  Ibng  ago — 
when  he  was  a  little  boy  ?  " 

"  Several.  You  shall  have  them." 

"Tell  me  this — speak  frankly, 
plainly.  Had  you  any  true  affec- 
tion for  him  ? " 

"  Why  else  should  I  have  treated 
him  as  though  he  were  a  child  of 
my  own  ?  " 

"  Did  you  ?  That  is  what  I  want 
to  know.     Or  was  it  only  the  con 
scientious  discharge   of  what    you 
somehow  came  to  think  your  duty  ?  " 

Lady  Revill  looked  at  him  with 
searching  eyes. 

"  Did  he  speak,"  she  asked,  "  as 
if  I  had  behaved  to  him  without 
affection  ?  " 

"  He  spoke  of  you  with  respect." 

"  With  nothing  more  ?  " 

It  was  all  but  a  cry  of  pain,  and 
Langley  subdued  his  voice  in  an- 
swering. 


147 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

"  Remember  that  we  were 
strangers  to  each  other  ;  mere 
acquaintances,  it  seemed,  and  of 
such  different  ages.  Remember, 
too,  that  he  was  at  the  time  of  life 
when  a  boy's  simplicity  is  out- 
grown, and  the  man's  thoughtful- 
ness  has  not  yet  developed.  I  found 
in  him — and  it  is  saying  much — 
not  a  trace  of  ungenerous  feeling. 
He  spoke  with  regret  of  the  trouble 
and  anxiety  he  had  caused  you." 

"  Never  heartlessly,"  interrupted 
the  listener.  "  Never  in  a  way  that 
could  make  me  sorry  I  had " 

Her  voice  broke  ;  she  bent  her 
head. 

"  He  said  more  ;  and  judge  of 
the  strength  of  his  feeling,  that  he 
could  overcome  a  boy's  shame,  and 
speak  of  such  things.  He  confessed 
to  me,  in  his  bitterness,  that  he 
loved  you  with  a  son's  love  ;  and 
lamented  that  you  had  lost  all  kind- 
ness for  him." 

"  It  was  not  true  !  How  could 
he  think  that  ?  " 


148 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  love  that  is 
never  shown  ? " 

"  He  turned  from  me — he  made 
friends  of  people  who  taught  him 
to  rebel  against  my  wish  in  every- 
thing." 

"You  were  mistaken,"  said 
Langley.  "I  know  who  you  are 
thinking  of.  That  friend  of  his, 
from  first  to  last,  spoke  no  word 
disrespectful  to  you.  She  did  not 
even  know  that  you  had  found 
fault  with  him  on  her  account. 
And  when  some  one  or  other  told 
her  how  serious  the  matter  was 
getting,  you  know  how  she  wrote 
to  him." 

"  An  easy  magnanimity. 

"  It  is  you  who  seem  to  find  the 
reverse  of  magnanimity  so  easy.  I 
know  nothing  of  this  woman,  ex- 
cept what  I  heard  from  Louis. 
Public  report  is  worthless  ;  though 
you,  doubtless,  make  it  the  whole 
ground  of  your  prejudice  against 
her.  I  believe  that  she  did  act 
magnanimously,  or  at  all  events  in 


149 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

honest  kindness ;  out  of  regard 
both  for  him  and  for  you.  I  know 
a  lad  can  be  fooled  by  the  most 
worthless  woman,  but  this  is  no 
such  case." 

"  I  bring  no  charge  against  her," 
said  Lady  Revill,  coldly,  "except 
that  the  result  of  her  influence, 
whether  she  proposed  it  or  not, 
was  to  set  Louis's  mind  in  opposi- 
tion to  all  I  desired." 

"  What  did  you  desire  ?  " 

She  seemed  to  disdain  an  answer. 

"  Perhaps,"  Langley  went  on, 
without  harshness,  "  you  had  some 
memory  of  me — of  views  I  used  to 
hold — and  your  intention  was  to 
make  of  him  a  man  as  unlike  me 
as  possible.  I  am  not  what  I  was — 
unhappily.  Life  has  killed  off  so 
many  of  my  enthusiasms,  as  it  does 
in  most  men.  You  did  me  the 
honour,  perhaps,  of  imagining  me 
still  warm  on  the  side  of  poor 
wretches — still  cold  to  the  aristo- 
cratic ideal.  You  sought  to  repress 
in  the  boy  all  that  did  him  most 


150 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

credit  —  his  unselfish  aspirations, 
his  bright  zeal  for  justice  and 
mercy — his  contempt  for  idle  and 
conceited  worldlings.  I  once  knew 
a  woman  who  would  never  have 
done  that — but  the  world  has 
changed  her." 

"  You  talk  in  utter  ignorance  of 
me,"  Lady  Revill  replied. 

"Whatever  your  motive,  the 
result  was  the  same." 

Emotion  again  shook  her. 

^'  I  tried  to  do  my  duty,  and  you 
are  the  last  person  who  should  re- 
proach me  if  I  mistook — if  I  failed 
to  make  his  boyhood  a  time  of 
happiness " 

"  His  life,"  said  Langley,  after  a 
few  moments  of  painful  silence, 
"was  not  unhappy.  His  troubles 
came  of  no  idle  or  shameful  cause, 
and  he  was  full  of  purpose.  If  he 
could  have  grown  up  at  my  side  ! 
If  I  could  have  led  him  on,  taught 
him,  watched  the  growth  of  his 
mind — what  a  companion  !  what  a 
friend  !     And    I   have   wasted   my 


151 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

life,  idled  and  sauntered  through 
the  years,  whilst,  unknown  to  me, 
that  duty  and  that  happiness  lay 
within  reach  ! 

Lady  Revill  gazed  at  him  ap- 
pealingly  through  tears. 

"No,"  he  continued,  with  a 
gesture  of  impatience,  "  1  shall  not 
forget  myself  again.  I  spoke  in 
maddening  pain  ;  it  was  true,  I 
didn't  know  what  I  said.  I  am 
ashamed  to  have  spoken  to  you  like 
that — to  you.  You  had  reasons 
for  what  you  did ;  never  mind 
what  they  were." 

Again  there  was  silence,  and 
Lady  Revill  sank  wearily  upon  a 
seat. 

"  Shall  you  go  to  Athens  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  What  use — to  see  a  grave  ? 
But  yes  ;  I  shall  go. 

"You  do  wish  him  to  be  buried 
there  ?  " 

"  Yes.  In  the  little  cemetery  by 
the  Ilissus.  Ah,  you  know  nothing 
of  all  that" 


152 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

"Is  it  beautiful — like  the  ceme- 
tery at  Rome  ? " 

"  No ;  not  in  that  way.  A  poor 
little  patch  of  ground.  But  it  lies 
close  by  the  ruins  of  a  great  temple, 
and  at  evening  the  shadow  of  the 
Acropolis  falls  upon  it.  He  was  learn- 
ing to  love  Athens  -y  and  if  I  could 
have  gone  back  to  him — .  I  should 
have  started  to-night.  In  a  week 
I  thought  to  be  with  him  again." 

When  he  paused  Lady  Revill 
asked  under  her  breath  : 

"You  would  at  once  have  told 
him  ? " 

"  You  think  I  should  have  shrunk 
from  it,"  he  answered,  with  a  re- 
vival of  scornful  emotion.  "  Oh, 
how  the  proprieties  imprison  you  ! 
How  the  pretty  hypocrisies  of  life 
constrain  the  nobler  part  of  you !  " 

"To  you,  then,"  she  exclaimed, 
a  hot  flush  upon  her  cheeks,  "all 
decency,  all  shame,  is  the  restraint 
of  hypocrites  ? " 

"  No  ;  but  the  false  feelings  that 
take  their  name.    You  would  thinjj: 


I  S3 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

it  more  becoming,  I  dare  say,  to 
have  let  him  remain  fatherless,  than 
to  confess  that,  twenty  years  ago,  I 
was  young,  and  had  a  young  man's 
passions." 

"  Poor  boy  !  I  can  hardly  grieve' 
that  he  is  dead." 

"  At  least,  that  is  logical,"  said 
Langley,  with  answering  bitterness, 
"  for  you  would  have  liked  him  to 
feel  a  misery  worse  than  death  in 
the  knowledge  of  his  birth.  And 
perhaps  he  would  really  have  felt  it. 
Perhaps  the  influence  of  his  educa- 
tion, the  moral  lessons  you  have 
assiduously  taught  him — .  Oh,  let 
us  make  the  best  of  what  can't  be 
helped  ;  let  us  be  content  that  he 
is  dead." 

Lady  Revill  rose  from  her  chair. 

"  Mr.  Langley,  shall  I  reply  to 
this  telegram,  or  will  you  do  so  ?  " 

"  I  will  do  so,  in  your  name." 

"Thank  you." 

It  was  a  dismissal.  Langley 
glanced  at  the  photograph,  but  did 
not  take  it.    Lady  Revill,  however, 


1 54 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

moved  quickly,  and  put  it  into  his 
hand. 

"Your  grief  is  very  bitter,"  she 
said,  in  a  shaken  voice. 

Their  hands  just  touched,  and 
he  left  her. 


155 


HE  day  passed  in  a 
moody  and  fretful 
indecision.  There 
was  a  telegram  from 
Worboys,  repeating 
the  words  of  that 
addressed  to  Lady 
Revill  'y  he  carried 
it  about  with  him, 
and  read  it  times 
innumerable.  The 
photograph  he  had 
put  away  ;  but  the 
face  it  represented 
came  before  his 
mind  persistently, 
and,  by  a  morbid  trick  of  the  imagi- 
nation, changed  always  to  a  deathly 
rigidness,  with  eyes  closed  and 
sunken  cheeks. 


156 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

From  harassed  sleep,  he  awoke 
when  it  was  yet  dark,  and  the 
sudden  return  of  consciousness  was 
a  shock  that  left  him  quivering 
with  shapeless  fears.  He  did  not 
know  himself,  could  not  recover 
his  personality.  It  was  as  though 
a  man  should  turn  to  the  glass, 
and  behold  the  visage  of  a  stranger. 
So  much  had  crowded  into  the  two 
brief  yesterdays  :  a  joy  undreamt, 
the  glowing  forecast  of  a  life's 
happiness,  a  stroke  of  fate,  and 
thereupon  that  whirling  hour  that 
made  him  think  and  speak  so 
wildly.  Trying  to  remember  all 
he  had  said,  he  was  racked  with 
something  worse  than  shame.  It 
seemed  impossible  that  a  moment's 
anguish  could  so  disfigure  a  ripened 
mind,  stultify  the  self  knowledge 
of  philosophic  years.  What  foolish 
insults  had  he  uttered  ?  It  was  like 
the  behaviour  of  crude  youth,  stung 
into  recklessness  by  a  law  of  life 
unknown  to  him. 

When  day   broke,  he  rose,  half 


157 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

dressed    himself,  and   sat  down   in 
the  twilight  with  pen  and  paper. 

"  For  all  my  frenzy  of  yesterday, 
I  beg  your  forgiveness.  I  owed  you 
gratitude,  and  behaved  with  bruta- 
lity. Will  you  write  a  few  words, 
and  say  that  you  can  make  allow- 
ance for  what  was  spoken  at  such 
a  time  ?  Do  not  think  that 
revealed  myself  as  I  am  ;  that  was 
the  spirit  of  long  years  ago,  which 
in  truth  I  have  outlived.  Forgive 
me,  and  tell  me  that  you  do." 

Whilst  it  was  still  very  early,  he 
went  out  and  posted  this.  An  hour 
after,  there  came  regret  for  having 
done  so  ;  and  through  the  morning 
he  wandered  miserably  about  un- 
familiar streets. 

Early  in  the  afternoon,  he  des- 
patched a  telegram  to  Hampstead, 
asking  for  the  address  of  Mrs. 
Tresilian.  No  sooner  was  it  sent 
than  he  remembered  that  a  glance 
at  a  Directory  might  perhaps  have 
saved  the  trouble  ;  so  forthwith  he 
searched  the  volume.     "Tresilian, 


158 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

Frederick  James,"  no  other  of  the 
name  appeared  ;  and  this  gentle- 
man's house  was  in  Connaught 
Square.  But  Langley  could  not 
be  sure  that  it  was  the  residence 
of  the  lady  he  sought ;  after  all, 
he  must  await  the  reply  from  his 
friend.  It  arrived  in  an  hour's  time, 
and  astonished  him. 

''  Mrs.  Tresilian's  address — 34, 
East  Lane,  Bermondsey." 

Was  she,  then,  even  more  enthu 
siastic    in  her   cause    than   he   had 
imagined  ?        Did     she     positively 
dwell  among  the  poor  ? 

After  brief  hesitation  he  took  a 
hansom,  and  was  driven  towards  the 
glooming  levels  of  South-east  Lon- 
don. In  Bermondsey  the  cabman 
had  to  ask  his  way.  When  East 
Lane  was  at  length  discovered 
Langley  alighted  at  the  end,  dis- 
missed his  vehicle,  and  explored  the 
by-way  on  foot.  He  found  that 
No.  34  was  a  larger  house  than  its 
neighbours  ;  it  had  recently  under- 
gone repairs,  and  looked  not  only 


159 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

clean,  but,  to  judge  from  the  win- 
dows, comfortably  furnished.  In 
answer  to  his  knock  appeared  a 
very  pretty  woman,  very  plainly 
dressed,  whose  face,  unless  he  were 
mistaken,  declared  her  name. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mrs.  Tresilian." 

"  Will  you  come  in  ?  "  was  the 
pleasantly  toned  invitation  ;  and  he 
followed  to  a  sitting-room  on  the 
ground  floor,  a  room  simple  as  could 
be,  but  at  the  same  time  totally 
unlike  the  representative  parlour  of 
Bermondsey.  There  the  pretty 
woman  faced  him  with,  "  I  am 
Mrs.  Tresilian." 

"  My  name  is  Langley " 

He  could  add  no  particulars,  for 
at  once  his  hostess  exclaimed  viva- 
ciously : 

"  And  you  have  come  from 
Greece  !  You  have  been  with 
Louis  Reed!" 

"Yes." 

"  But  how  did  you  find  me  ? 
Louis  doesn't  know  of  this  place, 
does  he  ?  " 


1 60 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

Langley  explained,  and  Mrs. 
Tresilian  laughed  at  what  she 
called  the  perfidy  of  their  Hamp- 
stead  friend. 

"  I  know  all  about  you  from  a 
letter  of  Louis's.  How  is  he  ? 
Not  ill,  I  hope  ?  " 

The  pause  which  Langley  made, 
and  his  dark  look,  alarmed  her.  In 
a  few  words  he  told  what  had  be- 
fallen. The  listener,  clasping  her 
hands  in  a  gesture  of  sincere  grief, 
stood  for  a  moment  voiceless  ;  then 
her  eyes  filled. 

"  Oh,  poor  boy !  poor  boy ! 
Do  you  know,  Mr.  Langley,  what 
great  friends  we  were  ?  Oh,  and  I 
expected  so  much  of  him.  He 
seemed  so " 

She  had  to  turn  away.  Langley, 
choking  with  a  gentler  sorrow  than 
he  had  yet  felt,  regarded  her  through 
tears  that  would  not  be  restrained. 
Often  he  had  smiled  at  the  name 
of  Mrs.  Tresilian,  knowing  only  Oi 
certain  extravagances  which  served 
to  caricature  her  personality  in  the 


i6i 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

eye  of  the  world  ;  he  saw  her  now 
as  she  had  appeared  to  Louis,  ad- 
miring scarcely  less  than  he  sympa- 
thised. 

"  Tell  me  about  him,  Mr.  Lang- 
ley.  Was  he  quite  well  when  you 
left  him  ?  " 

"In  fair  health,  I  thought.     But 

^"     He  changed  the  form  of  his 

sentence.  "  Did  he  not  write  to 
you  very  recently  ?  " 

She  exhibited  much  distress. 

"Yes.  I  had  a  letter  only  a  day 
or  two  ago.  And  how  unhappy  it 
will  always  make  me  to  think  that 

Do  tell  me  all    you  know. 

You  seem  to  keep  something  back. 
If  he  said  anything  to  you — I  will 
explain  my  reasons " 

Langley  related  the  events  of  his 
last  two  days  at  Athens,  and  the 
listener  sat  with  bent  head,  her 
tears  falling.  When  he  ceased  she 
made  an  effort  to  calm  herself; 
then,  with  perfect  simplicity,  made 
known  the  reason  for  what  she  had 
done.     It    was  a  sacrifice  imposed 


162 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

by  her  genuine  affection  for  Louis. 
She  had  never  known,  until  some 
one  authorised  to  speak  came  and 
told  her,  that  Louis's  guardian 
looked  with  the  strongest  disap- 
proval upon  their  friendship  ;  the 
matter  was  represented  to  her  so 
very  gravely  that  there  seemed  no 
alternative,  though  it  broke  her 
heart  to  write  as  she  did.  And 
Louis's  letter  in  reply  was  so  manly, 
so  noble 

"  He  wrote  so  ?  "  Langley  inter- 
rupted eagerly. 

"  How  proud  I  should  be  to  show 
you  the  letter,  if  it  were  not  too 
sacred  !  And  I  seem  to  have  only 
just  read  it,  fresh  from  his  hands. 
How  is  \t  possible  that  the  poor  boy 
can  be  dead  ?     I  can't  believe  it  !  " 

"You  speak,  Mrs.  Tresilian,  of 
some  one  who  came  to  you  with 
authority.  Now,  when  I  men- 
tioned this  fact  to  Lady  Revill,  she 
utterly  denied  that  any  friend  of 
hers  could  have  taken  such  a  step."^ 

"  Then  I  must  justify  myself,  at 


i6t 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

any  cost,"  answered  the  other,  with 
dignity.  "  The  gentleman  who 
called  was  Lord  Henry  Strands. 
He  came  to  the  house  in  Con- 
naught  Square — it  was  the  day 
before  I  left  to  come  here — and 
went  so  far  as  to  tell  me  in  con- 
fidence that  Lady  Revill  would 
shortly  become  his  wife.  Of  that, 
Mr.  Langley,  I  am  sure  you  will 
not  speak.  I  must  tell  you,  for  I 
can't  bear  that  you  should  think  I 
acted  frivolously." 

Langley  kept  silence.  His 
habitual  frown  expressed  a  gloomy 
severity,  and  Mrs.  Tresilian  seemed 
unable  to  move  her  eyes  from  him. 

"Are  you  well  acquainted  with 
Lady  Revill  ? "  she  asked,  diffi- 
dently. 

"Till  the  other  day  it  is  years 
since  we  met." 

"What  I  have  said  surprises 
you  ?  " 

"  No.  I  have  heard  of  Lord 
Henry  Strands.  But,"  he  added 
slowly,  "  it  is  clear  that  he  came  to 


164 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

you  without  authority  from  Lady 
ReviU." 

^^  There  seems  no  doubt  of  that." 
Mrs.  Tresilian's  eyes,  still  moist, 
gleamed  with  indignation.  "I 
know  Lady  Revill  only  by  name, 
but  I  have  heard  people  say  all 
sorts  of  pleasant  things  of  her.  Of 
course  I  was  sorry  to  know  how 
she  thought  of  me,  but  I  could  not 
for  a  moment,  considering  Louis's 
age,  countenance  him  in  disregard- 
ing her  wishes." 

"  Can  you  —  forgive  me  for 
questioning  you  further — can  you 
tell  me  anything  of  Lord  Henry 
Strands  ? " 

"I  know  nothing  of  him.  He 
looks  a  man  of  forty,  and  seems 
well-bred,  though  perhaps  a  little 
conscious  of  his  rank." 

Their  eyes  met  for  a  moment, 
and  Mrs.  Tresilian  again  seemed 
to  discover  something  in  the  visi- 
tor's face  which  strongly  held  her 
attention. 

"  Do  tell  me,   if  you  can,"  she 


I 


165 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

continued,  "  whether  it's  true  that 
Lady  Revill  has  a  very  bad  opinion 
of  me?" 

"She  has  conservative  preju- 
dices." 

"  And  do  you  suppose  that  Louis 
had  lost  any  of  her  favour  on  this 
account  ?  BeHeve  me,  Mr.  Lang- 
ley,  I  never  had  a  suspicion  of  it. 
He  never  spoke  to  me  of  any  such 
thing." 

"  I  fear  there  is  no  doubt  that 
they  differed  on  this  point." 

"And  perhaps  for  that  very 
reason  he  was  sent  abroad  ?  Oh, 
how  cruel  it  is !  I  must  think 
myself  in  part  the  cause  of  his 
death  I  " 

Her  tears  flowed  again.  But 
Langley,  in  his  kindest  voice,  en- 
deavoured to  reassure  her,  repre- 
senting that  the  actual  and  sufficient 
cause  of  Louis's  being  sent  to  travel 
was  the  young  man's  disinclination 
to  enter  upon  a  University  career. 
For  this  self-will,  as  he  knew,  Mrs. 
Tresilian  could  in  no  way  be  held 

i66 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

responsible ;  Louis's  radicalism  had 
begun  to  flourish  before  ever  he 
met  with  her. 

"You  felt  a  great  interest  in 
him,  I  am  sure  ? "  said  the  lady, 
presently ;  and  again  her  look  fixedly 
encountered  his. 

"It  was  inevitable,"  Langley 
answered,  in  a  low  voice,  "after 
once  talking  with  him." 

Their  conversation  lasted  for  an 
hour ;  before  they  parted  Mrs. 
TresiHan  explained  the  meaning  of 
her  residence  in  East  Lane.  She 
belonged  to  an  informal  sisterhood, 
who  had  recently  undertaken  to 
live,  two  or  three  together,  and  in 
turns,  among  this  poor  population, 
for  example  and  for  help.  They 
kept  no  servants  ;  all  the  work  of 
the  house  was  done  by  their  own 
hands.  Each  of  them  took  up  her 
abode  here  for  three  weeks  at  a 
time. 

"But  I  never  spoke  of  it  to 
Louis,"  she  said  sadly.  "  I  ceased 
to  tell  him  of  such  things  when  I 


167 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

found  that  it  disturbed  his  thoughts. 
He  was  so  good  and  generous.  He 
wished  to  be  doing  something  him- 
self.    But  it  was  his  time  for  study, 

and Oh,    but    I    shall    always 

reproach  myself !  I  did  harm,  great 
harm  !  " 

Langley,  standing  in  readiness  to 
take  his  leave,  murmured  a  few 
words  of  deep  feeling  ;  and  as  they 
shook  hands  Mrs.  Tresilian  looked 
into  his  face  with  eves  that  thanked 
him. 


i68 


the  widow  of 
ihe   plighted 
Strands  !     In 
been   untrue 
forbid  that  he 
that     spirit 


XL 

HEN  the  next  morn- 
ing brought  no  letter 
from    Lady    Revill, 
Langley  ground  his 
teeth ;     he     keenly 
repented    his    haste 
in  sending  off  that 
passionate    plea    for 
her    forgiveness. 
What  was  to  be  ex- 
pected of  a  woman 
dyed  to  the  core  in 
conventionality  ?  — 
Sir  Thomas  Revill — 
wife  of  Lord  Henry 
asking  pardon  he  had 
to   himself.      Heaven 
should   have  outlived 
of    revolt    which    so 


169 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

ofFended  her  little  soul !  If  to- 
morrow he  heard  nothing  he  would 
write  once  more,  and  in  a  more 
self-respectful  strain ;  then  back  to 
Athens,  to  stand  by  his  son's 
grave. 

But  in  the  evening  came  a  reply. 
It  was  written  on  black-edged 
note-paper  of  the  finest  quality,  and 
couched  in  terms  of  irreproachable 
correctness.  "  Dear  Mr.  Langley," 
it  began.  Yes ;  she  would  no 
longer  countenance  informalities ; 
he  was  henceforth  to  be  an  acquain- 
tance like  any  other.  "  This 
afternoon  I  am  leaving  town  again, 
to  stay  for  a  time  at  my  house  in 
Somerset.  You  would  no  doubt 
like  to  have  some  of  the  things  that 
belonged  to  Louis,  such  as  books 
and  papers  ,  these  shall  be  put  at 
your  disposal  when  you  return  to 
England.  Moreover,  as  you  know, 
I  am  trustee  of  a  small  fund  which 
would  have  been  his  when  he  came 
of  age ;  in  this  matter  your  wishes 
will  be  consulted  by  my  solicitors. 


170 


i^  SLEEPING   FIRES. 

■pelieve    me,    dear    Mr.    Langley, 
Withfully  yours, ." 

How  gracious  !     What   delicate 
regard  for  his  feelings ! 

He  sat  late  in  the  smoking-room, 
turning  over  newspapers.  His 
hand  fell  upon  a  journal  of  society, 
and  he  wondered  idly  whether  it 
contained  any  mention  of  the  names 
in  which  he  was  interested.  Here 
was  one.  Lord  Henry  Strands, 
said  a  rumour,  had  it  in  mind  to 
purchase  the  house  in  Hyde  Park 
Gardens,  vacant  since  the  death  of 
So-and-so.  To  be  sure  ^  a  natural 
step.  And,  a  little  further  on,  the 
polite  chronicler  announced  that 
Lady  Revill  had  returned  to  town 
for  the  season,  having  spent  the 
greater  part  of  the  winter  at  her 
delightful  country  home  in  the  west 
of  England.  The  name  of  her 
estate  was  Fallowfield,  and  it  lay 
near  the  interesting  and  beautiful 
village  of  Norton  St.  Philip,  in 
Somerset,  celebrated  as  having  been 
the    resting-place   of    the    ill-fated 


171 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

Duke  of  Monmouth  just  before  the 
battle  of  Sedgmoor.  With  other 
particulars ;  but  on  the  leading 
point  the  newsman  for  once  was 
wrong. 

Norton  St.  Philip.  To  that  part 
of  England,  Langley  was  a  stranger. 
With  purposeless  curiosity  he  reached 
for  Bradshaw,  but  the  name  of  the 
village  did  not  appear  in  the  index. 
An  out-of-the-way  place.  The 
estate  had  probably  belonged  to  Sir 
Thomas.  Langley  yawned,  and 
went  to  bed. 

In  the  morning  he  paid  an  early 
visit  to  his  club,  and  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  consulting  a  gazetteer 
or  guide-book.  He  found  that  the 
village  of  Norton  St.  Philip  lay 
some  three  miles  from  a  Httle  place 
named  Wellow,  which  was  a 
station  on  the  Somerset  and  Dorset 
railway,  only  six  miles  from  Bath. 
Again  he  referred  to  Bradshaw. 
The  1. 15  express  would  land  him 
at  Bath  by  3.30 ;  and  thence, 
after    waiting  an  hour  and  a   half, 


172 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

he  could  reach  Wellow  by  half 
past  five.  He  sat  musing,  and 
frowning,  till  the  clock  pointed  to 
eleven  ;  then  returned  to  his  hotel. 
Here  again  he  mused  and  frowned, 
till  nearly  noon. 

At  one  o'clock  he  drove  up  to 
Paddington,  with  a  travelling-bag. 
The  first  part  of  his  journey  passed 
without  pleasure  or  impatience ;  he 
watched  the  telegraph-wires  in 
their  seeming  sway,  up  and  down, 
up  and  down  ;  saw  the  white  steam 
of  the  engine  float  over  green 
meadows  ;  and  was  at  Bath  before 
he  had  time  to  unfold  his  news- 
paper. An  unobservant  stroll  in 
the  town,  and  a  meal  for  which  he 
had  no  appetite — though  fasting 
since  formal  breakfast — killed  the 
moments  until  he  could  proceed. 
At  Wellow  he  found  himself  amid 
breezy  uplands.  There  was  no 
difficulty  in  procuring  a  conveyance 
to  Norton  St.  Philip.  He  liked 
the  drive,  and  liked,  too,  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  old  inn,  a  fifteenth- 


173 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

century    house,    which    at    length 
received    him. 

Not  till  night  had  fellen  did  he 
go  forth  and  ramble  in  the  direction 
of  Fallowfield,  some  half-hour's  walk 
along  a  leafy  road.  Having  looked 
at  the  closed  gates,  and  the  lighted 
windows  of  the  lodge,  he  rambled 
back  again.  At  bedtime  he  thought 
of  nothing  in  particular — unless  it 
were  the  Duke  of  Monmouth, 

But  the  shining  of  a  new  day 
quickened  his  life.  When  he 
opened  his  window,  spring  breathed 
upon  him  with  the  fragrance  of  all 
her  flowers,  and  birds  sang  to  him 
their  morning  rapture.  He  no 
longer  marvelled  at  the  impulse 
which  had  brought  him  hither,  but 
smiled  to  think  that  he  had  so^ 
much  more  of  resolute  manhood 
than  in  the  prime  of  youth. 

When  the  sun  was  high,  he 
again  walked  over  to  Fallowfield, 
and  by  inquiry  at  the  lodge  ascer- 
tained that  Lady  Revill  had  in 
truth  returned   from  town.     By  a 


174 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

winding  drive  of  no  great  length 
he  approached  the  house  :  a  most 
respectable  structure,  which  declared 
the  hand  of  a  Georgian  architect. 
The  garden  at  all  events  was 
beautiful,  and  lovely  in  their  new 
leafage  were  the  trees  that  stood 
about. 

In  the  imposing  hall,  he  waited 
with  no  less  painful  tremor  than 
on  presenting  himself  at  the  house 
in  Cornwall  Gardens.  When  led 
at  length  into  a  room,  he  saw  with 
satisfaction  that  it  was  no  chamber 
of  state,  but  small  and  cosy,  with 
windows  that  opened  upon  a  little 
lawn.  Here  again  he  had  to  endure 
some  minutes  of  solitude,  marked 
by  heart-throbs.  Then  sounded  a 
soft  rustle  behind  the  screen  which 
concealed  the  door,  and  Lady  Revill 
advanced  to  him.  She  wore  a  garb 
of  mourning,  admirable  of  course 
in  its  graceful  effectiveness,  and 
somehow,  despite  the  suggestion  of 
grief,  not  out  of  harmony  with  the 
bright  spring  day.     Unsmiling,  yet 


I7S 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

with  the  friendly  welcome  which 
became  her  as  a  country  hostess,  she 
offered  her  hand. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  that  you  should 
have  had  to  make  such  a  journey 
to  see  me.  I  thought  you  had  left 
England.  If  I  had  known  that 
there  was  anything  you  wished  to 
speak  of  immediately " 

The  civil  address  struck  Langley 
mute.  He  had  not  imagined  that, 
face  to  face  with  him,  Lady  Revill 
would  adhere  to  the  convention- 
alities of  her  last  letter. 

"  Could  it  not  have  been  done  by 
correspondence  ?  "  she  added,  as  they 
seated  themselves. 

"  I  had  no  choice  but  to  come. 
I  couldn't  go  away  without  seeing 
you  again.  The  memory  of  our 
meeting  in  London  is  too  painful 
to  me." 

Her  mood,  it  seemed,  was  gentle, 
for  she  listened  with  bent  head,  and 
answered  softly. 

"  Hadn't  we  better  forget  that, 
Mr.  Langley?" 


176 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

"  I  cannot  forget  that  I  gave  you 
cause  to  think  very  ill  of  me." 

"  No.  I  have  no  such  thought." 
She  was  gravely  kind.  "  I  did  not 
reply  directly  to  your  letter,  because 
I  felt  sure  that  you  would  under- 
stand my  omission  to  do  so.  The 
blow  that  fell  upon  you  was  so 
sudden  and  so  dreadful." 

"  But  upon  you  also  it  fell,"  said 
Langley,  when  she  paused. 

"  More  heavily  than  perhaps  you 
are  willing  to  believe." 

He  searched  her  face  for  evidence 
of  this,  and  a  moment  elapsed. 
Then,  with  a  collected  manner, 
Lady   Revill  again  spoke. 

"As  the  opportunity  offers,  let 
me  ask  whether  you  have  seen  Mrs. 
Tresilian." 

"  I  called  upon  her." 

^'  Before  leaving  town,  I  had  a 
letter  from  her.  We  don't  know 
each  other,  and  I  have  never  wished 
to  know  Mrs.  Tresilian ;  but  she 
wrote,  seemingly,  in  great  distress, 
reproaching    herself    with     having 


177  M 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

contributed  to  Louis's  fatal  illness. 
Whether  there  can  be  any  truth  in 
fhat,  I  am  unable  to  decide.  As 
it  was  from  you,  I  find,  that  she 
learnt  the  particulars,  I  am  afraid 
you  left  her  under  the  impression 
that  she  was  to  blame." 

"  I  tried  not  to  do  so." 

''  In  this  letter,"  proceeded  Lady 
Revill,  "  Mrs.  Tresilian  repeats 
what  I  was  so  surprised  to  learn 
from  you,  the  story  of  some  one 
having  called  upon  her  in  my  name. 
Please  tell  me,  Mr.  Langley, 
whether  this  was  mentioned  in 
your  conversation." 

"  We  spoke  of  it,"  he  answered 
steadily. 

"I  believe  I  have  a  right  to 
ask  what  you  learnt  from  Mrs. 
TresiHan." 

Langley  faced  the  challenge,  ad- 
miring the  stern  beauty  of  his 
questioner  as   she  uttered  it. 

"  Certain  facts  were  mentioned 
in  confidence,"  he  said.  "But  it 
can  hardly  be  a  breach  of  confidence 


178 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

to  repeat  them  —  to  you.  The 
gentleman  who  called  upon  Mrs. 
Tresilian  was  Lord  Henry  Strands." 

"Thank  you." 

Their  eyes  met  unwaveringly. 
On  Lady  Revill's  cheek  mantled  a 
soft  glow,  but  she  continued  in 
the  same  voice,  melodious  always, 
though  in  the  note  of  royal 
command. 

"  Did  Lord  Henry  Strands  offer 
any  explanation  of  the  step  he  had 
taken  ?  " 

«  He  did." 

"  Kindly  tell  me  what  it  was." 

''  In  confidence,  he  told  Mrs. 
Tresilian  that  you  would  shortly  be 
married  to  him.'' 

«  Thank  you." 

The  colour  had  died  out  of  her 
face.  Without  venturing  even  a 
glance,  Langley  waited  for  her  next 
words  j  he  could  not  surmise  what 
they  would  be,  for  her  "  Thank 
you  "  was  uttered  in  an  uncertain, 
absent  tone,  very  unlike  that  of  the 
interrogator. 


179 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

"It  was  not  true,"  she  said  at 
length,   coldly. 

He  raised  his  eyes.  In  the  same 
moment  Lady  Revill  stood  up,  and 
spoke  once  more  with  the  self- 
possession  of  a  friendly  hostess. 

"Would  you  Hke  to  see  the 
gardens  ?  If  you  will  wait  a 
moment." 

Quickly  she  reappeared  with 
covered  head.  She  talked  of  flowers 
and  trees,  but  her  voice  sounded  t6 
him  only  as  distant  music ;  he 
answered  mechanically,  or  not  at 
all.  A  direct  question  recalled  him 
to  himself. 

"  Do  you  return  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  I  am  uncertain.  I  haven't 
thought  about  it." 

Utterly  confused  he  could  only 
stare  at  the  shadow  upon  the  grass. 
Lady  Revill  walked  on,  and  again 
drew  his  attention  to  some  detail 
of  gardening.  Able  at  length  to 
answer  in  ordinary  tones,  he  met 
her  look,  and  for  the  first  time  she 
smiled.     A  smile  of  no  meaning  ; 


1 80 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

the  mere  play  of  facial  muscles 
trained  to  express  suavity. 

"  You  are  alone  here  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  At  present.  But  I  am  ex- 
pecting guests  this  afternoon — two 
little  nieces,  who  will  stay  for  a  few 
weeks  with  me." 

Reviving  his  recollections  of  her 
family,  Langley  was  about  to  ask 
whose  children  these  were ;  but 
Lady  Revill  spoke  again,  and  on 
another  subject. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  somethmg  of 
Mrs.  Tresilian  ?  I  am  afraid  I 
have  done  her  injustice.  Probably 
I  have  been  misled  by  public 
opinion.  You  are  well  acquainted 
with  her  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  I  had  never  met 
her  before." 

He  continued  vaguely ;  careful 
to  avoid  specific  eulogy,  yet  sug- 
gesting a  favourable  estimate.  And 
^ven  whilst  speaking,  he  was  dis- 
satisfied with  himself,  for  he  knew 
that  to  any  one  else  he  would  have 
given  a  much  bolder  description  of 


i8i 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

Mrs.    Tresilian.       Conscience    re- 
buked him  for  cowardice. 

Conversing  thus,  they  had  passed 
through  a  shrubbery,  and  reached 
an  open  spot,  sheltered  with  larch 
trees,  where  stood  a  small  building 
of  no  very  graceful  design.  Lady 
Revill  explained  that  it  was  a 
mortuary  chapel,  built  by  the 
original  owner  of  Fallowfield  to 
contain  his  wife's  tomb.  The 
family  was  Roman  Catholic. 
Nothing  of  general  interest  marked 
the  interior ;  it  had  been  converted 
to  the  uses  of  Protestantism,  and  a 
clerical  guest  or  the  incumbent  of 
the  parish,  occasionally  read  service 
here. 

"This  path,"  she  added,  with 
her  hand  upon  a  little  wicket  which 
opened  into  the  consecrated  spot, 
"  leads  through  the  plantation  to 
the  high  road — in  the  direction  of 
the  village." 

Was  it  a  dismissal  ?  Langley 
stood  in  miserable  embarrassment  ; 
he  seemed  to  have  lost  all  his  tact. 


182 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

all  his  breeding  ;  he  could  behave 
neither  as  a  man  of  the  world  nor 
as  an  impassioned  lover.  A  boobyish 
boy  could  not  have  been  more  at  a 
loss  how  to  act  or  speak.  Then 
he  saw  that  Lady  Revill  was  again 
smiHng. 

"  Will  you  give  me  the  pleasure  of 
your  company  at  luncheon  ?  "  she 
said. 

This  excessive  courtesy  restored 
command  of  his  tongue.  He 
answered,  in  a  matter-of-fact  phrase, 
that  he  feared  the  time  at  his  dis- 
posal was  too  short ;  he  had  better 
follow  this  path  to  the  village. 

"  I  mentioned  in  my  letter," 
began  Lady  Revill ;  and  then  paused, 
her  eyes  wandering. 

"  Thank  you  ;  it  was  very  kind. 
You  will  let  me  write  to  you — when 
I  have  decided  where  I  shall  live." 

She  offered  her  hand,  gravely  ; 
the  dismissal  was  now  in  form. 
Without  word  of  leave-taking, 
Langley  touched  her  fingers,  and 
passed  through  the  little  gate* 


183 


XII. 

E  travelled  back  to 
London.  With  no 
intention  of  remaining 
there,  and  with  no 
settled  purpose  of  going 
further  ;  rest  he  could 
not,  and  the  railway 
journey  at  all  events 
consumed  what  else 
must  have  been  hours 
of  intolerable  idleness. 
For  the  fire  that  so 
long  had  slept  within  him,  hidden 
beneath  the  accumulating  habits  of 
purposeless,  self  -  indulgent  life, 
denied  by  his  smiling  philosophy, 
thought  of  as  a  mere  flash  amid  the 
ardours  of  youth — the  fire  of  a  life's 
passion^  no  longer  to  be  disguised 


184 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

or  resisted,  burst  into  consuming 
flame.  He  had  accustomed  himself 
to  believe  that  his  senses  were  sub- 
dued by  reason,  if  not  by  time  j  and 
nature  mocked  at  his  security.  No 
hapless  lad,  tortured  by  his  twentieth 
year,  suffered  keener  pains  than 
Langley  through  the  night  that 
followed. 

It  was  solace  to  him  that  Lady 
Revill  had  expressly  declared  herself 
a  free  woman.  The  very  fact  of 
her  having  done  so  seemed  to  crush 
his  hope  :  for  the  dismissal  that  fell 
from  her  lips  signified,  more  pro- 
bably than  not,  a  passing  anger 
with  the  indiscreet  Lord  Henry ; 
she  would  shame  the  man  and  bring 
him  to  his  knees,  but  only  for  the 
pleasure  of  forgiving  him.  Such  a 
suitor  was  not  likely  to  have  so  far 
presumed  without  solid  assurance  j 
and  Agnes  Revill  was  not  the 
woman  to  cast  away,  for  so  trifling 
a  cause,  the  hope  of  high  dignities. 

A  few  days  passed,  and  in  the 
meanwhile  he  again  communicated 


i8s 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

by  telegraph  with  Worboys.  The 
archaeologist  made  known  his  in- 
tention of  remaining  in  Greece ;  he 
had  written  to  Lady  Revill,  and  at 
the  same  time  to  Langley.  There- 
upon Langley  addressed  Lady  Revill 
in  a  formal  letter,  asking  her  wishes 
with  regard  to  the  marking  of 
Louis's  grave.  The  reply  leaving 
him  free  to  act  in  this  matter  as  he 
chose,  he  wrote  to  Worboys  that 
the  grave  should  remain,  for  the 
present,  without  stone  or  memorial. 
In  less  than  a  week — it  seemed 
to  him  that  he  had  struggled  through 
a  month — the  goad  again  drove  him 
westward.  He  reached  the  old  inn 
at  Norton  St.  Philip,  and  under 
cover  of  darkness  prowled  about  the 
precincts  of  Fallowfield.  The  next 
morning,  as  he  strayed  with  falter- 
ing purpose  along  the  high  road, 
an  open  carriage  passed;  in  it  sat 
Lady  Revill  with  two  little  girls. 
Whether  she  saw  him  or  not  he 
was  unable  to  determine.  Perhaps 
not,  for  she  was  leaning  back,  and 


i86 


t 


SLEEPIIsTG    FIRES. 


had  an  inattentive  air.  But  this 
glimpse  of  her  face  fevered  him. 
He  returned  to  the  inn  and  wrote  a 
letter,  which,  after  all,  he  shrank 
from  dispatching. 

Shortly  before  sunset  he  walked 
along  the  path  by  which,  a  week 
ago,  he  had  left  Fallowfield.  It  was 
too  late  for  an  ordinary  call  at  the 
house ;  he  half  purposed  dehvering 
his  letter  to  a  servant,  that  Lady 
Revill  might  read  it  and  think  of  it 
to-night.  He  passed  through  the 
larch  plantation,  where  birds  were 
loud  amid  the  gold-green  branches, 
and  on  coming  within  sight  of  the 
little  chapel  lingered  wearily.  If  he 
meant  to  approach  the  house  from 
this  point  he  must  wait  till  gloom 
had  fallen  ;  there  was  too  much  risk 
of  encountering  some  one  in  the 
gardens. 

He  leaned  against  a  trunk. 

The  sun  went  down  ;  the  birds 
grew  silent.  Possessed  by  unen- 
durable longing  he  moved  forward. 
But    daylight    still    lingered,    and 


187 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

courage  to  enter  the  gardens  failed 
him.  Pausing  by  the  chapel  door, 
he  laid  a  hand  upon  the  ring,  and 
turned  it ;  the  door  opened,  not 
without  noise,  and  as  he  was  about 
to  enter  a  figure  rose  in  the  dusk. 
His  heart  leapt.  Lady  Revill  had 
been  either  sitting  or  kneeling 
alone,  and  now  she  faced  the  in- 
truder. 

He  drew  back,  closed  the  door, 
and  stepped  aside.  In  two  or  three 
minutes  he  heard  the  door  creak  as 
it  again  opened.  Lady  Revill  came 
forth,  and  stood  looking  in  his  di- 
rection. Then,  with  a  few  quick 
steps,  he  advanced  towards  her. 

■  "  Mr.    Langley,    why    are    you 
here  ?  " 

"  Because  I  can't  live  away  from 
you.  Because  it  is  so  much  harder, 
now,  to  relinquish  the  best  hope  of 
life  than  it  was  years  ago." 

Question  and  answer  were  uttered 
rapidly,  on  hurried  breath.  Gazing 
steadfastly  at  the  face  before  him, 
Langley  saw  that  it  was  pale  and 


i88 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

discomposed ;   the   eyes  seemed   to 
bear  marks  of  tears. 

"Then,"  she  rejoined  in  the  same 
moment,  "  I  must  tell  you  at  once, 
without  choosing  phrases,  that  you 
are  guilty  of  strange  folly." 

"  That  may  well  be.  But  the 
folly  has  too  strong  a  hold  on  me. 
I  am  sorry  to  have  broken  in  upon 
your  privacy ;  but  very  glad  to  have 
met  you.  Of  course  I  had  no  idea 
you  were  in  the  chapel." 

"You  ought  not  to  be  here.  It's 
unworthy  of  you  ;  and  if  I  am  to 
live  in  fear  of  being  surprised  when- 
ever I  come  out  alone — .  What 
more  have  we  to  say  to  each  other  ? " 

"If  only  you  will  hear  me ! 
When  one  has  wasted  so  many 
years  of  life,  ever  so  faint  a  hope 
of  recovering  the  past  becomes  a 
strong  motive." 

"Wasted  ?  Why  have  the  years 
been  wasted  ?  " 

She  endeavoured  to  speak  with 
her  usual  cold  dignity,  but  her  voice 
had  lost  its  firmness.    Langley  could 


i8^ 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

not  take  his  eyes  from  her ;  pallid, 
disdainful,  with  tormented  brows, 
the  face  had  a  wonderful  beauty  in 
this  light  of  afterglow. 

"  Why  ?  "  he  echoed  sadly. 
"  Folly,  of  course.  But  the  natural 
enough  result  of  what  we  both 
remember." 

"  And  whose  the  blame  ?  "  broke 
from  her  lips.  "  Whose  the 
blame  ?  " 

"  Who  is  ever  to  blame  for  spoilt 
lives !  Fate,  I  suppose :  a  con- 
venient word  for  all  the  mistakes 
we  live  to  be  ashamed  of." 

"Convenient  for  those  who  can 
think  so  Hghtly  of  a  crime.  Your 
mistake!  And  what  of  the  other 
lives  that  it  condemned  to  un- 
happiness  ?  " 

"Yours,  at  all  events,"  said 
Langley,  with  downcast  eyes,  "did 
not  suffer  from  it." 

She  looked  scornfully  at  him,  and 
answered  with  bitter  irony. 

"  That  thought  must  be  a  com- 
fort to  you." 


190 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

^'  Why  not  ?  "  His  face  was 
suddenly  agleam.  "What  Hfe  can 
have  been  happier  than  Lady 
Revill's  ? " 

"  Only  your  own,  perhaps.  Oh, 
is  it  worth  while  to  waste  our  sar- 
casm on  each  other  ?  You  can  say 
nothing  that  I  care  to  hear.  If  the 
best  of  life  is  over,  so  is  the  worst, 
thank  God  !  Let  us  remember 
that  we  are  man  and  woman,  and 
respect  ourselves." 

"It  is  because  I  have  learnt  to 
respect  myself  —  the  strongest, 
truest  desire  of  my  life — that  I  am 
here." 

"  At  my  cost ! "  she  uttered 
passionately.  "Do  I  find  pleasure 
in  remembering  all  the  misery  you 
brought  upon  me  ?  " 

"  Surely  you  are  a  little  unjust.  If 
your  life  has  been  unhappy,  are  not 
you  in  part  to  blame  for  it  yourself  ? 
You  don't  talk  of  fate ;  you  ac- 
count us  resDonsible  for  what  we 
do." 

"  With  your  views,  it  isn't  to  be 


191 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

expected  you  should  understand  me. 
What  can  you  know  of  the  revolt 
against  my  own  feelings — the  dis- 
gust with  life.  Oh,  how  can  you 
know  what  passes  in  the  mind  of  a 
girl  who  loses  at  once  all  faith  and 
hope  ?  " 

"  My  views,"  answered  Langley, 
with  gentleness,  "allow  me  to 
imagine  all  that.  They  allow  me, 
also,  to  compare  your  acts  and  mine. 
It  would  be  easy  to  flatter  you  by 
taking  all  the  blame  upon  myself. 
Men  generally  do  so ;  it  helps,  they 
think,  to  make  life  possible.  They 
do  it  'out  of  respect  for  women.' 
But  I  can  see  in  it  nothing  respect- 
ful ;  much  the  reverse.  It  is  as 
good  as  saying  that  a  woman  cannot 
be  expected  to  see  facts  and  to 
reason  upon  them.  On  my  side 
there  was  wrong-doing ;  let  that  be 
granted.  But  what  of  your  mar- 
riage ?  Excuse  it  as  you  may,  was 
it  not  worse  than  what  /  had  to 
avow  ?  You  plead  outraged  feel- 
ings, loss  of  faith  and  hope,  driving 


192 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

you,  I  suppose,  into  a  sort  of  cynical 
worldliness.  I,  on  the  other  hand, 
plead  my  youth  and  manhood — a 
far  more  valid  excuse." 

She  stood  motionless,  avoiding  his 
eyes. 

"And  it  is  idle  to  pretend,"  he 
went  on,  still  quietly,  "that  you 
can  judge  me  now  as  you  did  then. 
It  is  worse  than  idle  to  stand  before 
me  as  an  injured  woman,  austere  in 
her  rectitude.  Whatever  /  have  to 
regret,  you^  Lady  Revill,  have  yet 
more." 

The  dusk  thickened.  A  breeze 
stirred  in  the  larches.  Lady  Revill 
cast  a  sudden'  look  in  the  direction 
of  the  house,  and  moved  a  few 
steps  ;  then  paused,  and  faced  her 
companion  again. 

"  You  came  to  tell  me  this  ?  " 

"  No.  To  tell  you  that  the  love 
you  rejected  is  stronger  now  than 
then.  I  could  not  do  so  whilst  I 
thought  that  you  loved  another 
man." 

"  You  never  thought  it." 


193  N 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

"  I  could  not  suppose  that  Lord 
Henry  Strands  spoke  falsely." 

"  Nor  did  he.  I  had  given  him 
every  reason,  short  of  absolute  pro- 
mise, to  believe  that  I  v^ould  marry 
him.  But  what  has  marriage  to 
do  v^ith  love  ?  " 

"  Little  enough,  I  dare  say,  as  a 
rule.  Perhaps  I  have  no  right, 
even  now,  to  speak  to  you  as  if  you 
were  a  free  woman  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  free."  She  laughed. 
"  Free  as  ever  I  was." 

''If  so,  I  have  more  to  say. 
After  all,  I  can  honestly  take  upon 
myself  the  blame  for  all  that  hap- 
pened. If  only  I  had  not  been 
such  a  pedant  m  morals  !  I  was 
absurd,  when  I  thought  myself 
nobly  honest.  I  had  no  right  what- 
ever to  make  known  what  I  did." 

Lady  Revill  met  his  eyes,  and  for 
a  moment  reflected. 

"You  not  only  had  the  right," 
she  answered,  "  but  it  was  your 
plain  duty." 

"But  think.     Your  parents  did 


194 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

not  deal  honestly  with  me — nor 
with  vou.  You  were  not  told  the 
whole  truth.  And  I  might  have 
foreseen  that.  They  wished  to 
guard  you  from  .me," 

''  It  would  have  made  no  diiFer- 
ence." 

"  Perhaps  not — and  yet  I  think 
it  would.  You  were  not  a  girl  of 
the  brainless  kind.  You  condemned 
me  because  I  seemed  to  have  acted 
with  vulgar  unscrupulousness  j 
whereas  I  had  ftdfiUed  e\  ery  obliga- 
tion." 

"You  never  offered  to  many 
her." 

"  Thank  heaven,  no  ! "  He  went 
on  vehemently.  "Are  you  deter- 
mined to  echo  the  silliest  cant  ? 
What  sort  of  marriage  would  that 
have  been  ?  Have  we  not  known 
of  such  ?  You  are  speaking  in 
defiance  of  all  that  life  has  taught 
you.  I,  when  I  committed  that 
folly  of  telling  your  father  an  irre- 
levant fact,  at  all  events  believed 
myself  to  be  compelled  in  honour 


I9S 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

to  do  SO.  But  you,  with  your 
knowledge  of  the  world,  degrade 
yourself  when  you  repeat  mere 
moral  phrases,  wholly  without  appli- 
cation. Neither  for  the  mother's 
sake,  nor  for  the  child's,  ought  I 
to  have  married  her  :  and  you  know 
it.  It  was  my  plain  duty  to  marry 
the  woman  I  loved — who  let  me 
hope  that  she  loved  me  in  return. 
I  ought  to  have  said  not  a  word  of 
things  past  and  done  with." 

"But  they  were  not  done  with." 

"  Yes  5  in  any  sense  that  could 
have  affected  our  marriage.  Suppose, 
when  you  had  been  my  wife  for  a 
long  time,  you  had  learnt  of  the 
poor  boy's  existence — even  as  you 
did.  Can  you  wrong  yourself  so 
utterly  as  to  pretend  that  this  would 
have  troubled  our  happiness  ?  I 
know  you  too  well.  You  are  not 
a  woman  of  that  kind." 

Again  she  turned,  and  moved  a 
few  paces.  Her  hands  hung  clasped 
before  her. 

"  One  thing  you  have  said  truly," 


196 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

were  her  next  words,  in  a  low,  sad 
voice.  "My  parents  did  not  deal 
honestly  with  me.  They  owed  me 
the  whole  truth.  Still,  it  would 
have  made  no  difference." 

"At  the  moment,  perhaps  not. 
But  it  would  have  saved  you  from 
that  marriage ;  and  in  a  year  or 
two " 

"  You  can't  understand.  We  see 
life  so  differently." 

Langley  stepped  towards  her. 

"That  is  what  I  don't  believe. 
You  hoodwink  yourself  with  the 
old  prejudices,  which  you  have  long 
outgrown,  if  only  you  could  bring 
yourself  to  confess  it.  Listen, 
Agnes."  She  shrank,  startled  ;  but 
he  repeated  the  name,  just  above  his 
breath.  "By  your  own  admission 
life  has  satisfied  you  just  as  little  as 
it  has  me.  We  both  see  it  from 
much  the  same  point  of  view ;  we 
both  look  back  on  a  dreary  failure. 
You  have  lived  in  slavery  to  all 
manner  of  conventional  hopes  and 
fears — playing    your   part   well,   of 


197 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

course — but  a  part  of  which  you 
were  weary  from  the  day  you 
undertook  it.  You  have  had  social 
success,  honour  —  and  hate  the 
memory  of  it.  I — well,  you  know 
the  course  that  I  have  followed. 
Not  even  my  flatterer  could  name 
it  a  'career.'  A  Hfe  of  sluggish 
respectability.  Oh,  infinitely  re- 
spectable, I  assure  you  !  An  im- 
maculate life,  by  the  ordinary 
standard ;  and  what  a  waste  of 
golden,  irrecoverable  time  !  If  you 
and  I  had  met  in  the  year  after 
your  marriage,  and  in  a  flood  of 
passion  had  braved  everything — 
going  away  together — defying  the 
sleepy  world :  how  much  more 
worthy  of  ourselves  than  this 
honourable  ignominy  !  " 

''  You  forget  yourself." 

*'  I  have  forgotten  myself  too 
long.  It  was  Louis  who  awakened 
me,  taught  me  how  low  I  had  sunk. 
Did  his  bright  young  life  never 
excite  the  same  feeling  in  you  ? 
Was  conscience  really  on  your  side 


198 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

when  you  tried  to  shape  him  to  the 
respectable  pattern  ? " 

She  raised  her  hands,  as  if  in 
appeal,  and  let  them  fall  again. 

"  Since  I  met  you  again,  I  have 
learnt  how  much  of  youth  there  is 
still  in  me.  Shall  I  give  up  my 
dearest  hope,  as  I  did  so  many  years 
ago  ?  You  too  are  young  ;  and 
you  have  learnt  the  worthlessness  of 
mere  social  ambition.  Isn't  it  true  ? 
Another  upward  step  was  before 
you  ;  a  higher  title  ;  but  the  cost 
of  it  was  a  lie — and  you  could  not !  " 

"  Yes  j  that  is  true,"  she  answered, 
softly. 

"  And  the  poor  boy — hadn't  he  a 
part  in  it  ?  " 

She  kept  silence.  Dusk  was 
passing  into  clouded  night  j  the 
breeze  in  the  larches  sang  more 
loudly. 

"  You  have  not  told  me  why  you 
kept  him  to  yourself,  and  treated 
him  as  a  child  of  your  own." 

*'  One  often  acts  without  reasoned 
motive." 


199 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

"  But  in  looking  back — in  re- 
calling the  time  when  you  must 
have  debated  with  yourself " 

"  I  did  wrong,"  she  uttered  im- 
pulsively. "  Forgive  me  for  that — 
forgive  me,  and  let  us  say  good- 
bye." 

"  No  !  I  said  good-bye  once, 
to  my  sorrow.  Agnes,  in  a  new 
life " 

He  tried  to  take  her  hand,  but 
she  withheld  it,  and  spoke  with 
sudden  firmness. 

"  I  shall  not  marry  again.  I  have 
made  it  impossible,  and  purposely." 

"  How  ?  You  fear  the  judgment 
of  your  world  ?  " 

"  I  fear  nothing,  but  the  voice  of 
my  own  conscience — I  can't  talk 
about  it ;  my  mind  is  made  up.  I 
shall  never  marry  again.  I  have 
said  all  I  can  say  y  now  we  must 
part." 

^'  And  you  will  waste  your  life  to 
the  end  ?  "  he  said,  distantly. 

Lady  Revill  flashed  a  glance  at 
him,  and  spoke  with  nervous  tremor. 


200 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

"  Waste  ?  Why  need  my  life  be 
wasted  ?  Is  there  no  hope  for  me 
apart  from  your  society  ?  " 

"  If  I  answer  what  I  think  " — an 
involuntary  laugh  broke  the  words — 
*^none!  If  I  didn't  believe  that 
you  and  I  were  destined  for  each 
other,  I  should  not  be  here.  I 
believed  it  long  years  ago.  I 
believed  it  again,  when  I  talked  of 
you  at  Athens.  And  I  have  believed 
it  more  strongly  than  ever  since  the 
grief  we  have  suffered  in  common. 
Nothing  that  you  have  said  destroys 
my  confidence." 

"  Then  words  have  no  meaning." 

"You  have  made  marriage  im- 
possible— how  ? " 

"Marriage  with  you  was  long 
ago  made  impossible,  by  your  own 
act. 

"  Evasion  \  and  you  don't  believe 
what  you  say.  Not  my  act,  but 
the  false  light  in  which  it  was 
shown  to  you.  I  dare  to  say  that 
you  loved  me,  and  I  was  not  as 
unworthy  of  you  as  you  were  made 


201 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

to  think.  Let  your  tongue  be  as 
frank  as  your  heart,  and  say  that 
you  wish  for  the  old  time  back 
again,  with  clearer  knowledge.  And 
you  have  it !  " 

"  I  must  leave  you." 

"To  go  and  sorrow  that  the 
world,  or  your  own  false  pride,  for- 
bids you  doing  as  you  would.  Pre- 
sumption, you  call  it  ?  I  dare 
everything,  for  your  sake  as  well 
as  my  own.  I  know  how  strong 
it  is — all  I  have  to  overcome.  If  I 
had  been  bolder,  then,  how  diffe- 
rent our  lives  !  I  ought  not  to 
have  accepted  your  refusal.  I  ought 
to  have  spoken  with  you,  face  to 
face,  and  told  you  all  with  my  own 
lips.  Then,  even  if  you  had  still 
refused  me,  you  would  never  have 
married  the  man  you  did  not  love. 
I  have  more  courage  now.  You 
know  what  might  be  said  of  me — 
a  man  with  just  a  bachelor's  income. 
Do  I  care  ?  I  know  that  you  can 
have  no  such  thought.  You  do 
not  doubt  for  a  moment  the  sincerity 


202 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

of  my  love.  And  but  for  habit — 
pride " 

"Yes,  if  it  will  convince  you. 
Nothing  you  can  ever  say  will 
prevail  against  them." 

"Agnes,  you  are  too  proud  to 
live  on  in  the  old  way.  You  will 
respect  yourself.  The  foolish  hum- 
drum of  such  a  life  as  you  have 
led " 

"My  life  is  my  own.  I  have 
better  use  for  it  than  to  surrender 
it  into  another's  hands.  It  is  true 
that  I  shall  live  no  longer  in  the  old 
way.  I  shall  have  few  friends.  Mr. 
Langley,  will  you  be  one  of  them  ?  " 

Her  voice  was  soft,  but  implied 
no  submission.  It  sounded  weary, 
and  Langley,  after  a  moment's 
silence,  offered  his  hand. 

"  Will  you  let  me  see  you  again  ?  " 

"  If  you  give  me  your  word  that 
it  shall  be  only  as  a  friend.  And 
not  soon.  Not  till  you  have  been 
to  Athens  again." 

"I  can't  promise  that.  Let  me 
see  you  in  a  month's  time." 


203 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

Lady  Revill  turned  towards  the 
house,  but  looked  back,  and  spoke 
hurriedly. 

^'  You  give  me  your  word  not  to 
try  to  see  me  for  a  month  ?  " 

He  promised,  and  the  next 
moment  stood  there  alone.  Through 
the  deep  shadow  of  the  trees,  he 
made  his  way  to  the  meadow  path. 
Before  him,  in  the  western  sky, 
glimmered  a  rift  of  pale  rose,  sever- 
ing storm-cloud.  The  burning  heat 
of  his  temples  was  allayed ;  then  a 
sudden  chill  ran  over  him,  and  his 
teeth  chattered. 


204 


XIII. 

E  had  caught  a  cold, 
and  spent  a  sufficiently 
miserable  fortnight  in 
getting  rid  of  it.  His 
spirits  were  not  im- 
proved by  the  arrival 
of  a  long  letter  from 
Athens,  giving  him  a 
full  account  of  Louis's 
illness  and  death.  On 
the  day  after  receiving 
it,  he  sent  this  letter  to 
Mrs.  Tresilian  ^  for  it  contained 
mention  of  her.  "If  I  don't  get 
over  this,"  Louis  said,  at  the  moment 
of  the  unexpected  relapse  which 
rapidly  proved  fatal,  "tell  Mrs. 
Tresilian  that  to  the  end  I  thought 
of  her  just  as  I  wrote  last." 

On   recovery,  Langley   was   for 


205 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

two  or  three  days  the  guest  of  his 
friends  at  Hampstead,  and  there 
occurred  his  next  meeting  with 
Mrs.  Tresilian.  They  walked 
together  in  the  pleasant  garden,  and 
conversed  with  an  intimacy  like 
that  of  long  acquaintance.  From 
talk  concerning  Louis,  the  lady 
passed  to  a  kindred  subject. 

"  A  week  ago  I  heard  from  Lady 
Revill  —  a  very  kind  and  very 
surprising  letter.  Perhaps  you 
already  know  of  it  ?  " 

"An  answer  to  a  letter  you 
wrote ?  " 

"  No.  I  did  write,  almost 
immediately  after  you  came  to  see 
me  ;  I  couldn't  help  doing  so.  The 
answer  to  that  came  quickly — a  few 
lines  of  very  formal  poHteness,  tell- 
ing me  nothing  at  all.  I  was  the 
more  surprised  when  I  heard  again. 
I  could  hardly  believe  what  I  read. 
Lady  Revill  wished  to  know  whether 
it  was  in  her  power  to  help  in  the 
work  with  which  my  name  was 
connected." 


206 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

"  A  week  ago  ?  " 

"  Ten  days,  perhaps.  What  does 
it  mean  ?  A  friend  had  told  her 
something  about  the  Bermondsey 
settlement,  and  it  interested  her 
greatly.  Personally  she  could  do 
nothing ;  but  if  a  stranger  might 
be  allowed  to  ofFer  help  in  the  shape 

of  money .     Of  course  it  was 

worded    very    nicely,    and    in    the 
upshot    it   amounted    to   this,  that 
our  society  might  draw  upon  her  to 
any  extent !     I  was  really  at  a  loss 
Can  you  explain  ?  " 

Langley  shook  his  head,  smiling. 

"  But  you,  I  have  no  doubt,  are 
the  '  friend  '  she  mentioned." 

"Lady  Revill  asked  me  for  some 
account  of  what  you  were  doing. 
I  didn't  foresee  anything  of  this 
kind.  It  was  hardly  the  sort  of 
offer  you  could  accept,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  thought  a  great  deal  about  it. 
We,  down  yonder,  are  in  no  par- 
ticular want  of  money  ;  it's  personal 
assistance  we  need.  I  wrote  at 
some   length,   explaining   this.      I 


207 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

added,  however,  that  there  were 
enterprises  in  which  I  took  an 
interest,  which  wanted  as  much 
money  as  could  be  got.  In  a  day 
or  two  I  heard  again  ;  just  as  nice 
a  letter.  It's  a  wretched  thing 
that  people  misunderstand  each 
other  so,  just  because  they  are 
never  brought  in  contact.  I 
thought  Lady  Revill  detested  me, 
and  my  opinion  of  her — well,  it 
was  not  favourable.  From  poor 
Louis's  talk,  I  got  the  idea  that  she 
was  in  many  ways  an  excellent 
woman,  but  narrow-minded,  and 
rather  arrogant.  Her  first  note 
confirmed  it.  But  now  she  writes 
in  the  most  amiable  spirit ;  with 
something  the  very  reverse  of  pride. 
What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  I  can  only  suppose  that  Louis's 
death  has  touched  the  better  part  of 
her  nature." 

After  a  pause,  Mrs.  Tresilian 
asked  : 

"  How  IS  Lord  Henry  Strands 
likely  to  regard  this  change  ?  " 


208 


I 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 


"  Impossible  to  say." 

Langley  spoke  in  a  tone  of  in 
difference,    and    the     subject    was 
dropped. 

"Could  you  dine  with  me  on 
Thursday,  next  week  ?  "  said  the 
other,  presently.  "  In  Connaught 
Square,  I  mean,  not  in  East  Lane. 
My  brother  will  be  there.  I  am 
sure  he  would  like  to  know  you  ; 
he's  a  good  scholar,  I  believe,  and 
I  has  travelled  in  the  East.     Nowa- 

I  days  he  lives  at "     She  named 

a  town  of  the  North  Midlands. 
"  He  goes  in  for  municipal  affairs, 
and  sometimes  signs  his  letters  to 
me — '  Paul  the  Parochial.'  He  takes 
a  pride  in  his  provincialism,  and 
really  I  think  he's  doing  a  lot  of 
good  work.  Do  you  know  the 
town  at  all  ?  " 

"  Never  was  there." 

"Paul  seems  to  have  unearthed 
all  the  local  talents,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Tresilian,  in  her  mirthful  spirit. 
"  He  rails  against  centralisation, 
persuades  the  large  people   to  live 


I 


209  o 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

at  home  and  be  active — and  so  on. 
A  good  deal  of  Ruskin  in  it,  of 
course,  but  he  has  ideas  of  his  own. 
Will  you  come  on  Thursday  ?  " 

"  I  will,  with  pleasure." 

It  was  an  odd  experience  when, 
among  the  little  group  of  people 
assembled  for  dinner  at  his  friend's 
house,  Langley  found  at  least  three 
whose  names  had  long  been  held 
by  him  in  contempt  or  abomination. 
There  was  a  political  woman,  from 
whose  presence,  a  short  time  ago, 
he  would  have  incontinently  fled  ; 
this  evening  he  saw  her  in  a  human 
light,  discovered  ability  in  her  talk, 
and  was  amused  by  her  genial 
comments  on  things  of  the  day. 
A  man  known  for  his  fierce  oratory 
in  connection  with  "  strikes,"  turned 
out  a  thoroughly  good  fellow, 
vigorous  without  venom,  and  more 
than  tinctured  with  sober  reading. 
The  third  personage,  an  eccentric 
offshoot  of  a  noble  house,  showed 
quite  another  man  at  close  quarters 
than  as  seen  through  the  medium 


210 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

of  report.  After  the  society  in 
which,  when  he  saw  society  at  all, 
his  time  had  chiefly  been  spent, 
Langley  tasted  an  invigorating 
atmosphere.  These  people,  one 
and  all,  had  a  declared  object  in 
Hfe,  and  seemed  to  pursue  it  with 
single-mindedness.  But  most  was 
he  pleased  with  Mrs.  Tresilian's 
brother  ;  in  many  respects,  as  five 
minutes'  talk  assured  him,  a  man 
after  his  own  heart :  refined,  scho- 
larly, genial.  This  gentleman  be- 
gan by  speaking  of  Louis  Reed, 
whom  he  had  met  only  once,  but 
whose  qualities  he  discussed  with 
such  sympathetic  insight,  such 
generous  appreciation  and  kindly 
regret,  that  the  listener  had  much 
ado  to  command  his  feelings. 

He  found  an  opportunity  of 
private  speech  with  his  hostess,  and 
inquired  whether  Lady  Revill  was 
still  in  the  country.  Mrs.  Tresilian 
thought  so. 

"  I  should  like  to  meet  her,"  she 
added,  "  but  I  still  feel  doubtful  of 


211 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

my  reception  if  I  appeared  before 
her  in  the  flesh.  We  have  again 
exchanged  letters — to  the  heaping 
of  more  coals  upon  my  head.  Her 
deference  really  shames  me.  The 
rascal  that  is  in  all  of  us — in  all 
women,  that  is  to  say — laments  that 
I  am  not  a  professional  organiser  of 
sham  charities.  What  an  oppor- 
tunity lost !  You  know  that  I 
don't  talk  of  this  to  every  one," 
she  added  gravely,  "  I  feel  sure  that 
her  motive  is  one  which  you  and  I 
are  bound  to  respect." 

Not  many  days  had  now  to  elapse 
before  Langley  would  be  released 
from  the  promise  which  forbade 
him  to  approach  Fallowfield.  He 
Kved  impatiently,  but  the  gloom 
was  passing  from  his  mind,  and 
hope  grew  one  with  resolve.  An 
effort  enabled  him  to  interpret  the 
"  month  "  liberally  ;  he  waited  till 
the  close  of  the  fifth  week,  then 
wrote  to  I>ady  Revill,  and  begged 
permission  to  see  her.  His  reason 
for  writing  before  he  journeyed  into 


212 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

Somerset  was  a  suspicion  that  Lady 
Revill,  would  not  be  found  in  her 
country  home ;  it  surprised  him  not 
at  all  when  her  reply  came — with 
only  the  inevitable  delay — from  the 
house  in  Cornwall  Gardens.  In 
friendly  phrase,  he  was  invited  to 
call  next  day. 

On  entering,  he  saw  with  sur- 
prise that  the  hall  was  stripped  of 
its  ornaments,  and  all  but  bare. 
No  hour  having  been  mentioned, 
he  had  come  in  the  afternoon ;  but 
plainly  he  need  not  fear  the  pre- 
sence of  ordinary  callers.  From 
somewhere  within  echoed  the  sound 
of  hammering.  A  maid-servant 
admitted  him  ;  proof  that  the  regu- 
lar establishment  had  been  broken 
up. 

From  the  drawing  -  room  had 
vanished  all  pictures  and  bric-d-brac; 
only  the  substantial  furniture  re- 
mained. Langley  tried  to  recognise 
a  good  omen,  but  chill  discomfort 
fell  upon  him,  and  Lady  Revill's 
countenance — she  stood  waiting  in 


3X3 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

the  middle  of  the  room — did  not 
support  his  hope.  She  smiled,  in- 
deed, shook  hands  with  show  of 
cordiality,  and  began  at  once  to 
apologise  for  the  disorder  about  her  ; 
but  this  endeavour  to  seem  cheerfully 
at  ease  put  no  mask  upon  the  pain- 
worn  features. 

"I  shall  be  so  glad  when  it's 
over,"  she  said,  with  a  smile,  turn- 
ing from  Langley's  gaze.  "  I  hate 
business  of  every  kind." 

"  You  will  have  no  house  in 
town  ?  " 

"  I  shall  never  live  in  London 
again." 

Langley  threw  aside  his  hat  and 
gloves,  stood  for  a  moment  with  his 
hands  behind  him,  then  looked 
steadily  at  her. 

^'  Somewhere  on  the  Continent — 
wouldn't  that  be  better  ?  " 

"  No.  Fallowfield  will  be  my 
home." 

"You  know  why  I  have  come 
to-day  ?  " 

Their  eyes  met.      He   saw   the 


214 


I 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

quivering  strain  she  put  upon  her- 
self to  reply  quietly. 

"Much  better  that  you  hadn't 
come.  But  let  it  be  over  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"  Your  answer  is  still  the  same  ?  " 

"  As  I  told  you  it  v^ould  be." 

The  sound  of  hammering  came 
from  above.  Langley  struggled  with 
the  frantic  impulse  of  his  nerves. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do 
down  there  ?  "  he  asked,  with  un- 
civil abruptness. 

"  Live  very  quietly,  and — and  try 
to  atone  for  all  my  sins  and  follies." 

Her  voice  broke  midway,  but 
she  forced  it  to  complete  the  sen- 
tence. 

"  I  see.  In  other  words,  bury 
yourself  alive.  Turn  ascetic — tor- 
ment yourself — find  merit  in  misery. 
And  in  defiance  of  the  brain  that 
tells  you  that  this  is  the  greatest  sin 
and  folly  of  all  !  Well,  happily  it 
isn't  possible." 

"  The  impossible  thing,"  she 
answered,  in  a  tone  of  forbearance. 


215 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

*'  is  to  make  you  understand  how 
much  I  have  suffered,  and  how 
greatly  I  have  changed." 

Her  soft,  low  accents  subdued  his 
violence. 

"Dearest,  how  can  you  so  de- 
ceive yourself?  You — you — to  be 
cloistered,  and  imagine  that  your 
soul  will  profit  by  it !  You  know 
it  is  mere  illusion.  Do  good,  if 
you  will  ;  and  first  of  all,"  he 
smiled,  "  give  yourself  to  the  man 
whose  supreme  neeTl  is  the  need  of 
you." 

"  You  have  had  my  answer." 

"  Only  the  answer  prompted  by 
a  mistaken  sense  of  duty.  Your 
duty  is  to  fulfil  yourself — to  be  all 
it  is  in  your  power  to  be.  Yield 
yourself  to  a  man's  love,  and  be 
perfect  woman." 

He  held  his  hands  to  her  ;  she 
drew  back,  and  spoke  impetuously. 

"  You  mean  the  woman  who  has 
no  will  of  her  own  ?  You  have  my 
answer,  and  must  accept  it." 

He   gazed  at    her,   as   if   for   a 


2X6 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

moment  doubting ;  but  saw  that 
in  her  face  which  roused  him  to 
impassioned  tenderness. 

"  How  strange  it  is,  Agnes.  We 
seem  so  far  apart.  The  long  years 
of  utter  separation — the  meeting  at 
length  in  cold  formality — the  bitter- 
ness, the  reproaches — so  much  that 
seems  to  stand  between  us ;  and 
yet  we  are  everything  to  each  other. 
If  you  were  the  kind  of  woman  who 
has  no  will  of  her  own,  could  I  love 
you  as  I  do  ?  And  if  I  were  less 
conscious  of  my  own  purpose,  would 
you  listen  to  me  ?  There  is  no 
question  of  one  yielding  to  the 
other,  save  in  the  moment  which 
overcomes  your  pride  and  leaves  you 
free  to  utter  the  truth.  Those  are 
the  old  phrases  of  love-making — 
they  rise  to  a  man's  tongue  when 
his  blood  is  hot.  We  shall  never 
see  the  world  with  the  same  eyes : 
man  and  woman  never  did  so,  never 
will;  but  there  is  no  life  for  us 
apart  from  each  other.  Our  very 
faults    make    us    born  companions. 


217 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

Your  need  of  me  is  as  great  as 
mine  of  you.  We  have  forgiven 
all  there  is  to  forgive ;  we  know 
what  may  be  asked,  and  what  may 
not.  No  castles  in  the  air ;  no 
idealisms  of  boy  and  girl ;  but  two 
lives  that  have  a  want,  and  see  but 
the  one  hope  of  satisfying  it." 

He  waited,  and  saw  her  lips  still 
harden  themselves  against  him. 

"  You  pretend  to  read  my 
thoughts,  yet  you  have  no  under- 
standing of  my  strongest  motive. 
This  is  quite  enough  to  prove  that 
we  are  really  far  apart,  and  not  only 
seem  to  be  so." 

"Then  add  one  word,"  said 
Langley.  "  Say  that  you  don't  love 
me — say  it  plainly  and  honestly — 
and  there's  an  end." 

Her  self-command  was  over- 
borne by  a  rush  of  tears. 

"  Why  will  you  torture  me  ?  I 
am  trying  so  hard  to  do  right.  My 
life  is  misery,  and  there  is  only  one 
way  to  gain  peace  of  mind.  I 
must    do   as    my   conscience    bids. 


218 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

It  is  you  who  deceive  yourself 
What  real  love  can  you  feel  for  a 
w^oman  whom  you  can't  respect  ? 
You  have  said  you  don't  respect 
me — and  how  should  you  ?  I  have 
lived  so  basely.  Since  my  marriage, 
not  a  day  I  can  look  back  upon 
without  shame.  I  am  trying  to 
humble  myself;  to  live  in  the  spirit 
of  the  religion  which  I  believe^ 
though  I  have  so  long  forgotten  it. 
I  hated  Mrs.  Tresilian,  because  she 
seemed  to  rob  me  of  the  love  I 
prized  so.  It  was  paltry  jealousy 
— of  a  piece  with  all  the  rest  of  my 
life.  Now  I  have  forced  myself  to 
beg  for  her  good  will.  I  will  do  all 
I  can  to  help  her — in  the  way  she 
taught  Louis  to  follow.  And  you, 
too,  I  have  injured,  in  my  selfish- 
ness. Forgive  me,  if  you  can. 
For  me  there  is  no  happiness — or 
only  in  self  denial.  I  have  lived 
through  the  worst ;  I  have  broken 
with  the  world  which  was  every- 
thing to  me — ambitions,  pleasures. 
Don't  make  it   harder  for  me.     I 


219 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

am  doing  as  you  bid  me — trying 
to  be  all  it  is  in  my  power  to  be — 
all  the  good^  after  so  much  evil." 

Langley  had  grasped  her  hand. 

"If  you  can  make  me  believe 
that  your  life  will  really  be  better 
apart  from  me.  I  wait  for  that 
one  word.  Do  you  love  me,  or 
not  ?  " 

She  drew  away,  but  he  detained 
her.  The  trembling  body  which 
at  any  moment  his  strength  could 
overcome  seemed  to  declare  his 
victory  over  the  soul.  Conventions, 
social  and  personal,  the  multiform 
restraints  upon  civilised  man  before 
the  woman  he  desires,  but  who  will 
not  yield  herself,  vanished  like  a 
tissue  in  fire.  She  was  falling,  but 
his  arm  supported  her.  So  slight 
and  weak  a  tenement  of  flesh,  now 
that  the  proud  spirit  was  exorcised. 
Holding  her,  heart  to  heart,  he  saw 
the  anguished  pallor  of  her  face  flush 
into  rosy  shame,  saw  the  moist  eyes 
dilate,  the  lips  throb — all  of  her 
divinely  young  and  beautiful. 


220 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

"  No — no — I  cannot 

"You  can  and  will " 

"  I  cannot  marry  you  !  I  have 
said  that  I  should  never  marry  again, 
said  it  so  solemnly " 

"To  some  one  else,  you  mean. 
What  of  that !     It  h  force  majeure^ 

He  laughed  exultantly. 

"  I  cannot !  " 

"Not  at  once.  Time  to  think 
and  understand  and  accept  your 
dread  fate — why,  of  course.  Time 
even  to  repent,  Agnes,  though  not 
in  sackcloth  and  ashes.  You  have 
done  ill,  and  so  have  I,  but  it  is  not 
to  be  repaired  by  asceticism.  Break 
down  the  walls  about  you — not  add 
to  their  height  and  thickness !  Walk 
in  the  summer  sunlight,  dearest, 
and  look  to  the  rising  of  many  a 
summer  sun  ! " 

"  What  right  have  I  to  take  the 
easy  path  ? " 

"Health  and  joy  are  the  true 
repentance.  All  sins  against  the 
conscience — what  are  they  but  sins 
against  the  law  of  healthy  hfe  ?  " 


221 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

"  I  have  sinned  so  against  others. 
And  to  make  no  atonement  in  my 
own  suffering " 

"  The  old  false  thought.  Health 
and  joy — it  is  what  life  demands  of 
us.  And  then  remember.  To 
marry  a  mere  unheraldic  mortal, 
to  exchange  the  style  of  chivalry 
for  a  bourgeois  prefix — is  not  that 
punishment  enough  ?  I  almost  fear 
to  ask  it  of  you," 

She  released  herself  and  stood 
apart,  head  drooping. 

"I  have  given  no  promise.  A 
long  time  must  pass " 

Langley  smiled. 


222 


XIV. 

N  an  October  afternoon 
Langley  sat  in  his  old 
room  at  Athens,  writing. 
But  no  books  were  piled 
about  him, and  his  coun- 
tenance had  undergone 
a  change  since  the  day 
when  he  bent  in  idle 
'  enjoyment  over  the  page 
of  Aristophanes.  It  was 
graver,  yet  not  so  old  ; 
smoother,  but  more 
virile.     Play  of  features 

a  light  in  the  eye,  a  motion  of 

brow     and     lips  —  expressed     the 
thoughts  he  was  penning. 

"  Once,  when  we  turned  together 
out  of  the  hot,  dusty  highroad  into 
a  little  village  graveyard  shadowed 


223 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

with  cypresses — it  was  near  Colonus, 
by  the  banks  of  the  Cephisus — Louis 
read  with  pleasure  the  Greek  words 
painted  on  the  wooden  crosses : 
Ev6d8e  KelraL — classical  Greek, 
looking  so  strange  to  him  in  this 
modern  application.  Could  it  have 
been  done  without  pedantry,  I 
should  have  liked  to  set  the  words 
on  his  marble ;  to  my  ear  they  are 
better  than  '  Here  lies  ' ;  so  restful 
in  their  antiquity,  echoing  so  softly 
the  music  of  the  old  world.  But 
the  simplest  inscription  is  the  best 
— the  one  name  by  which  we  called 
him,  and  the  date  of  his  death. 
Happily  he  does  not  lie  among  the 
foolish  monstrosities  of  the  Greek 
cemetery,  which  I  described  to  you 
— the  skulls  and  bones,  the  gilded 
shirt-studs,  and  so  on.  Your  wish 
is  respected :  on  the  marble  is 
carved  a  cross. 

''  The  day  has  been  hot,  and  in 
the  town  intolerably  glaring.  Soon 
after  sunrise  I  went  to  Phaleron  and 
bathed,  then  lingered  about  the  sea- 


224 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

shore,  thinking — well,  of  what 
should  I  think  ?  You  were  in  your 
garden,  no  doubt,  among  the  leaves 
and  flowers  of  English  autumn.  I 
saw  you  walking  there,  alone,  and 
hoped  that  your  thoughts  were  on 
the  shore  of  Attica. 

"Then    a    midday    meal     with 
Worboys.      I  like  the  old  pedant, 
and  feel  for  him  no  little  respect. 
After  all,  he  does  what  I  myself  am 
bent    on   doing ;    the    business   of 
archaeology  has  taken  such  strong 
possession  of  him  that  he  lives  in.  it 
with  abounding  vigour.     He  has  no 
thought  at  all  for  the  modern  world  ; 
to  him  every  interest  of  to-day — 
save    the    doings    of    excavators — 
seems  vulgar  and  irrelevant.     After 
all,  this  is  admirable.     All  the  more 
so    that    he    is    utterly   devoid   of 
personal   ambition ;    he   cares    not 
the  least  to  make  a  name,  and  to 
be     respectfully    regarded     by    his 
fellows.      He   loves   an   inscription 
for  its  own  sake.     If  he  has  a  per- 
sonal hope  in  the  matter,  I  rather 


225 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

think  it  would  take  the  form  of  a 
desire  to  die  in  the  trenches,  and 
be  buried  at  Colonus  along  with 
Ottfried  Muller  and  Charles  Lenor- 
mant.  But  he  is  too  humble  to 
express  such  a  wish. 

"  Heavens !  you  should  hear  him 
talk  of  you.  The  Medici  had  no 
such  incense  of  laudatory  gratitude 
as  Worboys  burns  daily  upon  your 
altar.  He  sincerely  believes  that 
history  can  show  no  grander 
instance  of  benevolent  and  enlight- 
ened patronage.  He  will  carve  your 
name  on  the  walls  of  some  temple 
yet  unearthed.  He  will  chant  you 
in  the  valleys  of  Peloponnesus,  and 
perhaps  in  the  wildernesses  of  Asia 
Minor.  Now  all  this  is  very  fine ; 
it  tells  of  a  sound  heart,  and  possibly 
of  a  brain  far  from  contemptible. 
Woman  in  the  flesh  he  will  never 
love  (he  speaks  tenderly  of  the 
Caryatides  on  the  Acropolis),  but 
you  he  worships.  I  find  it  inspirit- 
ing to  be  with  him.  By  the  by,  I 
have  of  course  told   him   nothing. 


^26 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

About  Louis  he  shall  never  know 
more  than  he  does  now. 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow  he 
goes  off  with  his  German  friend. 
They  are  more  than  brothers.  For 
my  own  part,  I  stay  here  until  I 
have  a  letter  from  you.  I  am 
impatient,  of  course.  Whatever 
you  write ' 

A  knock  at  the  door  stayed  his 
hand.  He  bade  enter,  and  there 
appeared  a  boy,  who,  showing  white 
teeth  in  a  smile,  and  uttering  a  few 
words  of  Greek,  delivered  a  letter. 

Alone  again,  -  Langley  let  the 
unbroken  envelope  lie  before  him. 
He  could  read  the  first  post-mark, 
and  he  observed  the  date.  When 
his  hand  was  quite  steady,  he  took 
a  penknife  and  released  the  sheet  of 
note-paper.  It  presented  but  a  few 
lines.  After  reading  them  several 
times,  he  put  the  letter  in  his  pocket, 
hid  away  his  own  unfinished  writing, 
and  went  out. 

A  few  hours  later  he  dined  with 
Worboys    and     the    archaeologist's 


227 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

German  comrade.  It  was  a  cheer* 
ful  meal,  but  Langley  chose  to  Hsten 
rather  than  to  talk.  Afterwards 
they  sat  smoking  for  a  long  time ; 
then  the  English  friends  walked  a 
short  distance  together, 

"It*s  uncertain,  then,  how  long 
you  stay  ?  "  said  Worboys. 

"  No.  I  have  decided  to  leave 
to-morrow.  And,  by  the  by,  I  am 
going  back  to  be  married." 

Worboys  stood  still. 

"  You  amaze  me  !  " 

"Surely  there  are  more  im- 
probable things  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  of  course.     But — 

you  never  hinted .     Will  you 

tell  me  who  it  is  ?  " 

"Yes.  You  know  her.  It  is 
Lady  Revill." 

Worboys  drew  a  deep  breath,  and 
clutched  his  friend's  hand. 

"  I  can't  say  what  I  should  wish 
to.  This  is  wonderful  and  mag- 
nificent !  Ah,  what  things  have 
happened  since  we  met  in  the 
Kerameikos ! " 


228 


SLEEPING   FIRES. 

When  Langley  was  in  his  room 
again  he  returned  to  the  unfinished 
writing. 

"  I  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival 
of  your  letter.  After  reading  it,  I 
went  out  and  rambled  till  dark. 
The  sunset  was  unspeakably  glorious 
- — the  last  of  many  such  that  I  have 
seen  at  Athens.  This  morning  I 
wished  that  you  were  here ;  at 
evening,  as  I  stood  on  the  Areopagus, 
I  was  glad  to  know  that  I  had  to 
travel  to  find  you — in  the  world  of 
realities. 

"As  Louis  said,  this  is  mere 
fairyland  ;  to  us  of  the  north,  an 
escape  for  rest  amid  scenes  we  hardly 
believe  to  be  real.  The  Acropolis, 
rock  and  ruins  all  tawny  gold,  the 
work  of  art  inseparable  from  that  of 
nature,  and  neither  seeming  to  have 
bodily  existence ;  the  gorgeous 
purples  of  Hymettus  ;  that  cloud 
on  Pentelikon,  with  its  melting 
splendours  which  seemed  to  veil  the 
abode  of  gods — what  part  has  all 
this  in  our  actual  life  ?     Who  cares 


229 


SLEEPING    FIRES. 

to  know  the  modern  names  of  these 
mountains  ?  Who  thinks  of  the 
people  who  dwell  among  them  ? 
Worboys  is  right ;  living  in  the 
past,  he  forgets  the  present  alto- 
gether. I,  whose  life  is  now  to 
begin,  must  shake  off  this  sorcery 
of  Athens,  and  remember  it  only  as 
a  delightful  dream.  Mere  fairyland ; 
and  our  Louis  has  become  part  of  it 
— to  be  remembered  by  me  as  calmly, 
yet  as  tenderly,  as  this  last  sunset. 

»"  Dearest,  I  finish  this  letter  and 
post  it  here.  It  may  possibly  reach 
you  at  Fallowfield  a  few  hours  be- 
fore I  come.  I  have  no  word  of 
thanks,  no  word  of  love  that  I  can 
write.  But  already  I  am  with  you. 
Yes,  let  the  past  be  past.  To  you 
and  me,  the  day  that  is  still  granted 
us." 


THE    END, 


TTHWIW  BKOTHBES,  CHILWORTH  AND  LONDON. 


A  SELECTED  LIST  OF  BOOKS 

PUBLISHED  BY 

MR.  T.  FISHER  UNWIN. 


ADAMS.    Works  by  Francis  Adams. 

The  Australians.    los.  6d. 
The  New  Egypt.    5s. 
Tiberius.    los.  6d.  nett. 

ADVENTURE  SERIES,  The.  Each  Volume 

is  large  crown  8vo  in  size  and  fully  Illustrated 
Volumes  t  to  14  are  bound  in  red  cloth,  price 
5s.  each,  and  Vols.  15  to  18  are  elegantly  bound 
in  cloth  extra,  gilt,  gilt  tops,  7s.  ^.  each. 

1.  The  Adventures  of  a  Younger  Son. 

2.  Madagascar. 

3.  Memoirs  of  the  Extraordinary  Military  Career 

of  John  Shipp. 

4.  Fellow's  Adventures  and  Sufferings  during  his 

Twenty-three  Years'  Captivity  in  Morocco. 

5.  The  Buccaneers  and  Marooners  of  America. 

6.  The  Log  of  a  Jack  Tar. 

7.  The  Travels  of  Ferdinand  Meodez  Pinto,  the 

Portuguese  Adventurer. 

8.  The  Story  of  the  Filibusters. 

9.  A  Master  Mariner. 

I 


T.  FISHER  UNWIN, 


ADVENTURE  SERIES,  The  {continuecTh- 

la  Kolokotrones  :  Klepht  and  Warrior. 

11.  Hard  Life  in  the  Colonies. 

12.  The  Escapes  of  Latude  and   Casanova  from 

Prison. 

13.  Adventures  of  a  Blockade  Runner. 

14.  Missing  Friends. 

15.  Women  Adventurers. 

16.  The  Life  and  Adventures  of  James  P.  Beck- 

wourth. 

17.  The  Memoirs  and  Travels  of  Mauritius  Augustus 

Count  De  Benyowsky. 

18.  Famous  Adventures  and  Prison  Escapes  of  the 

Civil  War.  ^ 

ALLARDYCE.    Stops,  or  How  to  Punctuate. 
By  Paul  Allardyce.    Sewed,  6d.  ;  cloth,  is. 

AUTONYM  LIBRARY,  The.     241110,  price 

in  paper,  is.  6d.  ;  cloth,  2s. 

1.  The  Upper  Berth.     By  F.  Marion  Crawford. 

2.  Mad  Sir  Uchtred.    By  S.  R.  Crockett. 

3.  By  Reef  and  Palm.    By  Louis  Becke. 

BESANT.   Annie  Besant :  An  Autobiography. 

16s. 

BRIGHT  CELESTIALS.   By  John  Coming 

Chinaman.    6s. 

BRIGHTWEN.  Works  by  Mrs.  Brightwen. 
More  About  Wild  Nature.    3s.  6d. 
Wild  Nature  Won  by  Kindness.     5s. 

BROOKFIELD.     ^sops  Fables  for   Little 
Readers.     By   Mrs.    Arthur    Brook  field. 

3s.  6d. 

BROOKFIELD.    The  Speaker's  A  B  C    By 

Colonel  BROOKFIELD,  M.P.      2S. 

2 


PATERNOSTER  SQUARE,  LONDON. 


BROOKS.     Perfect  Freedom.     Addresses  by 
Phillips  Brooks.    5s. 

BUNNER.  ^  Made  in  France.     By  H.   C. 

BuNNER.    3s.  6d. 

BYLES.  The  Boy  and  the  Angel.  By  Rev. 
John  Byles.    3s.  6d. 

BYNG  AND  STEPHENS.  The  Autobio- 
graphy of  an  English  Gamekeeper.    6s. 

CAMEO  SERIES.  The.  Demy  i2mo,  half- 
bound,  paper  boards,  price  3s.  6d.  each. — 
Also  an  Edition  de  Luxe,  limited  to  30  copies, 
printed  on  Japan  paper.  Prices  on  application* 

1.  The  Lady  irom  the  Sea. 

2.  A  London  Plane  Tree,  and  other  Poems. 

4.  Iphigenia  in  Delphi. 

5.  Mireio. 

6.  Lyrics. 

7.  A  Minor  Poet. 

8.  Concerning  Cats. 

9.  A  Chaplet  from  the  Greek  Anthology, 
o.  The  Countess  Kathleen. 

11.  The  Love  Songs  of  Robert  Burns. 

12.  Love  Songs  of  Ireland. 

13.  Retrospect,  and  other  Poems. 

CENTURY  DICTIONARY,  The.     An  En 

grclopaedic  Lexicon  of  the  English  Language, 
dited  by  Prof.  W.  D.  Whitney,  Ph.D.,  LL.D. 
(Yale  University).  Profusely  and  Artistically 
Illustrated.  In  6  vols.,  cloth,  gilt  lettered, 
sprinkled  edges,  £,-2  2s.  each ;  or,  in  half- 
morocco,  cloth  sides,  marbled  edges,  ;C3  i6s. 
each.  Also  in  24  parts,  cloth  boards,  los.  6d. 
each.— A  Bookcase,  for  holding  the  Dictionary, 
price  >  3s. 

3 


T.  FISHER  UNWIN, 


CENTURY  ILLUSTRATED  MONTHLY 
MAGAZINE,  The.  A  High-Class  Literary 
and  Artistic  Publication.  Price  is.  4d.  monthly, 
or  i6s.  for  one  year  ;  half-yearly  volumes,  price 
los.  6d.  each.  Cloth  cases  for  binding  the 
parts,  price  is.  4d.  each. 

CHILDREN'S  LIBRARY,  The.  Illustrated, 
post  8vo,  Pinafore  cloth  binding,  floral  edges, 
2s.  6d.  each. 

1.  The  Brown  Owl. 

2.  The  China  Cup. 

3.  Stories  from  Fairyland. 

4.  The  Story  of  a  Puppet. 

5.  The  Little  Princess. 

6.  Ta  es  from  the  Mabinogion. 

7.  Irish  Fairy  Tales. 

8.  An  Enchanted  Garden. 

9.  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 
10    A'he  Feather. 

II.  Finn  and  his  Companions. 

12.  Nutcracker  and  Mouse  King. 

13.  Once  upon  a  Time. 

14.  The  Pentamerone. 

15.  Finnish  Legends. 

16.  The  Pope's  Mule. 

17.  The  Little  Glass  Man. 

CLAYDEN. 

England  Under  Lord  Beaconsfield.     By  P.  W. 

Claydbn.    6s. 
England  Under  the  Coalition.    Price  is.  6d. 
4 


PATERNOSTER  SQUARE,  LONDON. 

COBBE. 

Miss  Frances  Power  Cobbe's  Works.    Popular 
re-issue.    Each  crown  8vo,  cloth,  3s.  6d. 

1.  Religious  Duty. 

2.  Peak  in  Darien. 

3.  Dawning  Lights. 

4.  Alone. 

5.  Hopes  of  the  Human  Race. 

6.  Duties  of  Women. 

7.  Faithless  World. 

\*  Mr.  T.  Fisher  Unwin  holds  a  stock  of  alt 
Miss  Cobbe's  other  Publications.  List  on 
application. 

CONWAY.  Climbing  and  Travel  in  the 
Kingdom  of  Kashmir  and  the  Himalayas.  By 
W.  M.  Conway.  With  300  original  Illus- 
trations by  A.  D.  McCoRMicK,  and  a  Map. 
I  vol.,  super  royal  8vo,  880  pages,  cloth. 
31S.  6d.  nett. 

COX.    Works  by  Palmer  Cox. 

The  Brownies.    Their  Book.    3s.  6d. 
Another  Brownie  Book.     3s.  6d. 
Brownies  at  Home.    6s. 

COX.   Works  by  the  Rev.  Samuel  Cox,  D.D. 

Expositions.    4  vols.,  each  7s.  6d. 

The  Hebrew  Twins.  A  Vindication  of  God's  Ways 
with  Jacob  and  Esau.  With  Memorial  Intro- 
duction of  the  Author.    Crown  8vo,  cloth,  6s. 

CROCKETT.     Works  by  S.  R.  Crockett. 

The  Stickit  Minister,    ss. 
The  Raiders.    6s. 

5 


T.  FISHER  UNWIN, 


CURRY.  A  Book  of  Thoughts.  Linked  with 
Memories  of  the  late  John  Bright.  Selected 
and  edited  by  Mary  B.  Curry.    6s. 

DEFOE.  The  Adventures  of  Robinson  Crusoe. 
By  Daniel  Defoe.    5s. 

DUNN.  The  Art  of  Singing.  By  Sinclair 
Dunn.    2s. 

FRANCIS.  Cheerful  Cats.   By  J.G.Francis. 

GARRETT.  Ibsen's  Brand.  Translated  into 
English  verse  by  F.  E.  Garrett,  ios.  6d.  nett. 

GARLAND.  Main  Travelled  Roads.  By 
Hamlin  Garland.    Paper,  is. 

GOSSE.  Robert  Browning.  By  Edmund 
GossE.    4s.  6d. 

GREAT  FRENCH  WRITERS,  The.  Studies 

of  the  Lives,  the  Works  and  the  Influence  of 
the  Principal  Authors  of  French  Literature. 
Edited  by  J.  J.  Jusserand.  Heliogravure 
Frontispiece.  Crown  8vo,  cloth,  3s.  6d.  each.— 
Also  an  Edition  on  large  paper,  numbered, 
and  limited  to  30  copies,  half  parchment,  price 
10s.  6d.  each. 

X.  Madame  de  Stael. 

2.  A.  Thiers. 

3.  Bernardin  de  St.  Pierre^ 

4.  Theophilc  Gautier. 


PATERNOSTER  SQUARE,  LONDON. 


HARDY.  Works  by  the  Rev.  E.  J.  Hardy, 
M.A.  ^ 

The  Business  of  Life.  Crown  8vo,  3s.  6d.  Square 
imperial  i6mo,  6s.    Presentation  Edition,  7s.  6d» 

Faint,  yet  Pursuing.  Square  imperial  i6mo,  6s. 
Popular  Edition,  3s.  6d. 

The  Five  Talents  of  Woman.  Popular  Edition, 
3s.  6d.  Square  imperial  i6mo,  6s.  Presenta* 
tion  Edition,  7s.  6d. 

How  to  be  Happy  Though  Married.  Presentation 
Edition,  7s.  6d.  Popular  Edition,  3s.  6d. 
Cheap  Edition,  paper  covers,  is. 

*'  Manners  Makyth  Man."  Presentation  Edition, 
7s.  6d.  Square  imperial  i6mo,  6s.  Popular 
Edition,  3s.  6d. 

The  Sunny  Days  of  Youth.  Square  imperial  i6mo, 
cloth,  6s.     Presentation  Edition,  7s.  6d. 

HARRIS.  Daddy  Jake  the  Runaway.  By 
Joel  Chandler  Harris  ("Uncle  Remus"). 
3S.  6d. 

HARRISON.  Introductory  Studies  in  Greek 
Art.    By  Jane  £.  Harrison.    7s.  6d. 

HARRISON  AND  MacCOLL.  Greek  Vase 
Paintings.  Introduction  and  Descriptions.  By 
J.  E.  Harrison  and  D.  S.  MacColl.  31s.  6d. 
nett. 

HAYES.  Among  Men  and  Horses.  By  Cap- 
tain H.  M.  Hayes.    x6s. 

HERBERT.  The  Temple.  By  George 
Herbert.  With  Introductory  Essay  by  J. 
Henry  Shorthouse.    5s. 

HODGSON.  Vignettes.  By  Geraldine 
Hodgson,    is.  6d. 

7 


T.  FISHER  UNWIN, 


HORTON.    Works  by  R.  F.  Horton,  M.A., 
D.D. 

Inspiration  and  the  Bible.     3s.  6d. 

Revelation  and  the  Bible.    7s.  6d. 

Verbum  Dei :  Being  the  Yale  Lectures  on  Preaching 
-  for  1893.    5s. 

HUMPHREY.    The  Queen  at  Balmoral.    By 
Frank  Pope  Humphrey.    5s. 

INDEPENDENT  NOVEL  SERIES,  The. 

Demy  i2mo,  cloth.     Price  3s.  6d.  each. 

1.  The  Shifting  of  the  Fire. 

2.  A  Phantom  from  the  East. 

3.  Jean  de  Kerdren. 

4.  Poor  Lady  Massey. 

5.  A  Constant  Lover. 

6.  Stories  from  Garshin. 

7.  Tiari :  a  Tahitian  Romance. 

8.  Hugh  Darville. 

9.  Theories. 

o.  Lady  Perfecta. 
II.  Mrs.  Thorndale's  Cousin. 
13.  Time  and  the  Player. 

JE9S0PP.  Works  by  Rev.  Augustus  Jessopp, 

D.D.  O 
Arcady  :  for  Better  for  Worse.    3s.  6d. 
The  Coming  of  the  Friars.     3s.  6d. 
Random  Roaming.    7s.  6d. 
Studies  by  a  Recluse.    7s.  6d. 
The  Trials  ofa  Country  Parson.    7s.  6d. 

8 


PATERNOSTER  SQUARE,  LONDON. 


JEWETT.  The  Bunny  Stories  for  Young 
People.    By  John  Howard  Jewett.    5s. 

JOHNSON  AND  BUEL.  Battles  and  Leaders 
of  the  American  Civil  War.  By  Robert 
U.  Johnson  and  Clarence  C.  Buel.  Four 
volumes.    ;^5  5s. 

JUSSERAND.     Works  by  J.  J.  Jusserand. 

The  English  Novel  in  the  Time  ot  Shakespeare. 
21S. 

English  Wayfaring  Life  in  the  Middle  Ages(XIVth 
Century).     7s.  6d. 

A  French  Ambassador  at  the  Court  of  Charles  II. 

I2S. 

Piers    Plowman,    1363-1399,    12s.      Also    a    Fine 
Edition  on  Japan  Paper.    21s.  nett. 

KEAN.  Among  the  Holy  Places.  By  Rev. 
James  Kean,  M.A.,  B.D.    7s.  6d. 

LIVES  OF  TWELVE  BAD  MEN.  Original 
Studies  of  Eminent  Scoundrels.  By  Various 
Hands.  Edited  by  Thomas  Seccombe. 
Illustrated,  i6s. 

*' LIVES  WORTH  LIVING"  SERIES,  The. 
OF  POPULAR  BIOGRAPHIES.  Illus 
trated.  Crown  8vo,  cloth  extra,  gilt  edges 
3s.  6d.    Six  vols-  in  handsome  box.    21s. 

1.  Leaders  of  Men. 

2.  Wise  Words  and  Loving  Deeds. 

3.  Master  Missionaries. 

4.  Labour  and  Victory. 

5.  Heroic  Adventure. 

6.  Great  Minds  in  Art. 

7.  Good  Men  and  True. 

8.  The  Lives  of  Robert  and  Mary  Moffat. 

9.  Famous  Musical  Composers. 

Q 


T.  FISHER  UNWIN, 


MERMAID  SERIES,  The:  The  Best  Plays 
of  the  Old  Dramatists.  Literal  Reproductions 
of  the  ^  Old  Text.  Post  8vo,  each  volume 
containing  about  500  pages,  and  an  etched 
Frontispiece,  cloth,  3s*  6d. 

1.  The  Best  Plays  of  Christopher  Marlowe. 

2.  The  Best  Plays  of  Thomas  Otway. 

3.  The  Best  Plays  of  John  Ford. 

4.  and  5.  The  Best  Plays  of  Thomas  Massinger. 

6.  The  Best  Plays  of  Thomas  Heywood. 

7.  The  Complete  Plays  of  William  Wycherley. 

8.  Nero  and  other  Plays. 

9.  and   10.    The    Best    Plays    of   Beaumont  and 

Fletcher. 

11.  The  Complete  Plays  of  William  Congreve. 

12.  The  Best  Plays  of  Webster  and  Tourneur. 

13.  and  14.  The  Best  Plays  of  Thomas  Middleton, 

15.  The  Best  Plays  of  James  Shirley. 

16.  The  Best  Plays  of  Thomas  Dekker. 

17.  The  Best  Plays  of  Ben  Jonson  (Vol.  I.). 

18.  The  Complete  Plays  of  Richard  Steele. 

MOFFAT.  The  Lives  of  Robert  and  Mary 
Moffat.  By  their  Son,  John  Smith  Moffat. 
7s.  6d. 

NORMAN.  The  Real  Japan.  By  Henry 
Norman.    3s.  6d. 

OGLE.       The     Marquis    d'Argenson.       By 

Arthur  Ogle.    6s. 

PENNELL.  Works  by  Joseph  ind  Eliza- 
beth Robins  Pennell. 

Our  Sentimental  Journey.     3s.  6d. 
Play  in  Provence.    6s. 
To  Gipsyland.    6s. 

10 


i 


'ii 


^^ 


M 


i^h 


■Sae0-^ 


^>^^w^<¥m 


I^M^^^dl^^M^? 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


UNIVERSITr   OF  ClllFORNIA         LIBRARY   OF  TH 


UNIVERSITY   OF   CUIFORNU  LIBRtRY   OF   THi 


f<)>>^UM<m 


